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fifmm^miifmmimm 


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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

JOHN  RANDOLPH  HAYNES 

AND  DORA  HAYNES  FOUNDATION 

COLLECTION 


*^  Y  •^""'fCteaa.u^.^. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

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http://www.archive.org/details/bawbeejockOOmclaiala 


BAWBEE  JOCK 


BY 

AMY  McLaren 


••The  law  of  unselfishness :  Not  to  live  for  the  individual 
But  for  the  Divine  whole:  That  is  the  will  of  God." 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

Zbc  ftnicl^erbocl^et  predd 

1911 


Vbt  ftnickccbochet  pre«0,  tkew  BotB 


CONTENTS 

CHAFTEK  PAG^ 

I.  A  STRANGER  ON  HIS  OWN  ESTATE  .  I 

II.  ANGELA  EXERTS  HER  FASCINATION  .  I3 

III.  THE  COMMUNION  OF  TWO             .  .  fi8 

IV.  THE  ROMANCE  OF  OLD  CLOTHES  .  49 
,  V.  IN  THE  ANCESTRAL  HALL  .  .  6I 
'VI.  AN  ACCIDENT  IN  THE  GLEN  .  .  78 
VII.  A  JEALOUS  GUARDIAN        ...  93 

VIII.  heart's  CONFESSION         .            .  .  I06 

IX.  ANGELA  BREAKS  THE  NEWS       .  .121 

X.  BAWBEE  jock's  PARSIMONY       .  .  I29 

XI.  THE  EVE  BEFORE  THE  WEDDING  .  I44 

XII.  A  MARRIAGE  IN  THE  HIGHLANDS  .  I5I 

XIII.  THE  PROMISED  LAND          .            .  .  I59 

XIV.  EXPLORING  THE  NEW  HOME       .  .  I70 
XV.  WORD  FROM  THE  SCAPEGRACE  .  1 88 


859675 


IV 


Contents 


CHAPTER 

XVI.  THE  HARVESTING     . 

XVII.  IN  THE  GRIP  OF  DEEP  FEELING 

XVIII.  AN  AMIABLE  TORMENTOR 

XIX.  BAWBEE  JOCK  IS  OUTRAGED 

XX.  A  DISCUSSION 

XXI.  CHRISTMAS-TIDE       . 

XXII.  Angela's  secret  . 

XXIII.  the  secret  imparted    . 

XXIV.  lady  di  takes  possession 
XXV.  Christina!   . 

XXVI.  AN  imperative  summons 

XXVII.  the  light  on  burying  island 

XXVIII.  the  last  solemnities   . 

XXIX.  A  struggle  with  death 

XXX.  Angela's  confession    . 

XXXI.  THE  rift  in  the  CLOUD 

XXXII.  the  union  of  three     . 


199 

210 

221 

233 

240 
248 

259 
268 
281 

295 
301 
312 

327 
338 
350 

359 
373 


•1- 


BAWBEE  JOCK 


Bawbee  Jock 


CHAPTER  I 

A    STRANGER    ON    HIS    OWN    ESTATE 

"  l\/\R.   MACKENZIE!" 

i  V 1  The  butler  announced  the  name  loudly,  but 
there  was  such  a  babel  of  talk  and  laughter  resounding 
through  the  long  oak-panelled  hall  that  the  advent  of 
the  newcomer  passed  unnoticed. 

"Hawkins!     Bring  some  more — more  teacups." 

The  voice  soimded  plaintive,  and  rather  helpless. 

"Yes,  madam,"  answered  the  butler,  and  vanished, 
leaving  the  visitor  he  had  announced  to  his  fate. 

He  stood:  a  tall,  broad-shouldered  figure,  in  the 
backgroimd,  looking  painfully  conscious  of  the  fact 
that  no  one  was  aware  of  his  presence.  His  hostess 
was  pouring  out  tea  and  talking  inconsequently  to  a 
mascviline-looking  woman,  eccentrically  dressed,  who 
was  standing  on  the  hearthrug,  and  who,  in  a  strident 
voice,  was  laying  down  the  law  on  a  matter  of  sporting 
etiquette.  Half  a  dozen  men  lounged  about,  smoking, 
and  discussing  the  day's  shoot  and  the  prospect  of  to- 
morrow's; and  in  the  embrasure  of  a  window,  sunk 

I 


2  Bawbee  Jock 

deep  in  the  massive  thickness  of  the  walls,  a  small 
group  had  gathered  round  a  table  on  which  one  of  the 
party  had  collected  all  the  cakes  and  eatables  he  could 
find.  He  was  "pressing"  them  on  the  attention  of  a 
very  pretty  girl,  whose  laughing  protests  he  met  with 
a  running  fire  of  commentary. 

"Cookies!  Scotch  for  btms.  Shortbread!  Ex- 
cellent! but  look  out  for  those  white  dots  on  the  top. 
They  're  none  so  innocent.  They  call  them  '  sweeties ' 
here,  and  they  're  as  hard  as  nails.  Scones !  My  dear 
Angela,  this  is  your  first  visit  to  the  Land  of  Cakes, 
therefore  let  me  warn  you  to  pronounce  that  word 
properly.  Don't  call  it  'scoanes'!  It  annoys  the 
natives.  Beauty,  you  lazy  beggar!  what  do  you 
mean  by  leaving  your  teacup  on  the  floor  for  me  to 
walk  into?" 

"It  *s  empty,"  murmured  a  languid  voice  from  the 
depths  of  an  armchair.  "As  you  're  on  your  feet, 
Flossie,  fetch  me  a  fresh  brew,  will  you?" 

Flossie  promptly  sat  down. 

"It 's  a  great  mistake  to  be  seen  standing  on  your 
feet,"  he  said.  "You  're  always  being  asked  to  do 
things,  and  I  never  encourage  laziness  on  principle." 

The  languid  voice  was  raised,  and  drawled  out: 

"  Don't  be  an  ass,  Flossie.  You  're  not  good-looking 
enough  to  have  principles.  With  a  face  like  a  gong, 
you  can't " 

A  cushion  spun  into  the  air  and,  descending  at 
exactly  the  right  angle,  extinguished  the  remainder  of 
the  sentence.  The  man  in  the  chair  struggled  into  an 
upright  position  and  tucked  the  cushion  in  at  his  back. 

"Thanks,"  he  said — "just  what  I  wanted."  And 
the  girl  looked  at  him  and  laughed. 


A  Stranger  on  His  Own  Estate       3 

He  was  very  good  to  look  at:  tall,  clean-limbed, 
with  a  handsome,  well-bred  face.  The  features  were 
almost  too  perfect,  but  about  the  eyes  were  lines  which 
ought  not  to  have  been  there.  It  was  not  the  years 
alone  which  had  drawn  these  lines  on  Beauty  de 
Burgh's  face. 

Flossie  was  a  striking  contrast  to  his  companion. 
He  was  short  and  plump,  with  a  smooth,  round,  pink 
face ;  and  his  appearance  gave  a  general  impression  of 
guileless  innocence.  He  was  dressed  rather  fancifully, 
for  the  reason  that  all  his  women-friends  helped  to 
dress  him.  His  stocking-tops  and  his  waistcoat  and 
his  tie  all  bore  witness  to  the  fact. 

Flossie  seated  himself  on  a  three-legged  stool,  and 
picked  out  a  piece  of  shortbread  from  the  plate  in 
front  of  him. 

"Good  gracious!"  he  exclaimed,  staying  his  hand. 
"Who  's  that?"  He  was  short-sighted,  and  felt  for 
his  eye-glass. 

Captain  de  Burgh  turned  his  head  in  the  direction 
of  the  door. 

"Bawbee  Jock!"  he  ejaculated. 

"So  it  is,"  said  Flossie.  "That  idiot  Hawkins 
shoots  people  into  the  room  as  though  he  were  click- 
ing tourists  through  a  tiimstile." 

"He  's  come  for  to-morrow's  grouse-drive.  I  knew 
Monty  had  asked  him,"  said  Captain  de  Burgh. 

"Well,  my  dear  chap,  you  might  go  and  help  the 
poor  beggar,"  said  Flossie.  "Your  sister  has  n't  the 
foggiest  notion  that  he  's  there." 

"Dolly  's  the  worst  hostess  in  Christendom,'* 
answered  Captain  de  Burgh.  "Probably  she  *S 
forgotten  that  he  's  been  asked." 


4  Bawbee  Jock 

He  turned  his  head  again. 

" It 's  all  right;  my  good  brother-in-law  has  gone  to 
the  rescue." 

A  stout  red-faced  man  had  detached  himself  from 
the  group  by  the  fireplace,  and,  making  his  way 
across  the  hall,  was  seen  shaking  hands  with  the 
newcomer. 

Flossie  dropped  his  eye-glass.  He  began  to  nibble 
his  shortbread,  and  handed  the  plate  to  the  girl  beside 
him. 

Angela  Tempest  was  watching  the  newcomer. 

"What  did  you  call  him? "  she  said.  " I  saw  him  at 
the  station,  and  I  heard  him  asking  about  his  luggage, 
and  I  felt  siu"e  that  he  was  coming  here;  but  the 
chauffeur  did  not  wait  for  him.  It  was  so  stupid,  be- 
cause there  was  plenty  of  room  in  the  motor." 

Captain  de  Burgh  laughed  softly. 

"  What  a  sell  for  Bawbee  Jock !  He  must  have  had 
to  hire  a  'macheen'  aU  to  himself." 

"But  who  is  he?"  repeated  Angela,  who  was  accus- 
tomed to  having  her  questions  answered  promptly. 

"Bawbee  Jock!"  drawled  Captain  de  Btu-gh, 
"otherwise  John  Murdoch  Mackenzie  of  that  ilk. 
'Ilk' means " 

"If  you  're  going  in  for  Scotch  definitions,  you  'd 
better  swallow  the  dictionary,"  interrupted  Flossie. 

"Go  on  eating  shortbread  and  let  me  finish  my 
story,"  was  the  lazy  retort. 

Beauty  de  Burgh  turned  and  leant  a  little  forward. 

"The  young  man  who  has  aroused  your  interest, 
Miss  Tempest,  is  our  landlord — my  brother-in-law's 
landlord,  to  be  correct.  He  is  the  proud  owner  of 
these  lordly  halls.    Jolly  fine  halls  they  are,  too;  I 


A  Stranger  on  His  Own  Estate       5 

wish  they  were  mine.     He  also  owns  some  of  the  best 
grouse-shooting  in  Scotland." 

"Why  does  n't  he  live  here  himself?"  asked  Angela. 

"Ah!  you  're  a  stranger  in  the  land,"  broke  in 
Flossie.  "Let  me  initiate  you  into  some  of  the 
peculiar  characteristics  of  the  natives.  A  Scotchman 
makes  money  by  saving  it.  Get  that  firmly  fixed  into 
your  head  and  it  will  help  you  to  understand  a  lot." 

Captain  de  Burgh  glanced  across  at  the  subject  of 
the  discussion. 

"  I  can't  see  where  the  fun  of  his  screwing  comes  in," 
he  said.  "  No  one  seems  to  know  why  he  screws.  He 
lets  nearly  every  acre  of  his  ground,  and  lives  on  one 
of  his  farms  on " 

"Porridge  and  whiskey,"  chimed  in  Flossie;  "and 
counts  his  bawbees  every  Saturday  night  before  he 
goes  to  bed." 

Angela  Tempest's  brows  drew  together  in  a  puzzled 
frown. 

"What  is  a  bawbee?"  she  asked. 

"It's  a  ha'pen — "  Captain  de  Burgh  broke  off 
suddenly. 

"Hi,  Flossie!  What  the — !  Keep  off  my  toes, 
can't  you!" 

-"A  bawbee,  my  dear  Angela,"  ran  on  Flossie  glibly, 
"if  used  as  a  prefix,  means  a  term  of  respect — or — 
endearment,  or — !  But  it 's  so  much  more  inter- 
esting to  receive  information  from  the  fountain-head, 
so  to  speak.  Ask  the  young  man  himself.  He  will 
explain  it  better  than  I  can." 

"I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  retorted  Angela. 
She  laughed,  and  looked  at  Captain  de  Burgh.  "  You 
gave  it  away.     I  know  quite  well  what  it  means. 


6  Bawbee  Jock 

Bawbee  Jock!  It  means  that  he  's  a  screw.  Tell 
me" — she  lowered  her  voice — "does  he  know  that 
he  's  called  Bawbee  Jock?" 

"Well,  it 's  not  exactly  chucked  at  his  head,"  said 
Flossie. 

"He  looks  lonely,"  said  Angela.  "Hasn't  he  got 
any  belongings?" 

Flossie  smiled. 

"If  you  mean,  is  there  a  female  Bawbee,  or  any 
little  Bawbeelites,  I  answer,  not  to  my  knowledge." 

"There  was  a  brother  in  the  Blues,"  interposed 
Captain  de  Burgh.  "I  don't  know  what 's  become  of 
him.  He  chucked  the  service,  and  went  off  ranching 
to  South  America,  or  some  out-of-the-way  place.  A 
good-looking  boy,  and  he  spent  his  money  pretty 
freely.     He  was  n't  a  pincher  like  this  one." 

"I  think  you  are  both  rather  horrid,"  said  Angela. 
"I  should  like  to  go  and  talk  to  Bawbee  Jock,  and 
make  him  feel  more  comfortable." 

Flossie  held  up  his  finger  wamingly. 

"My  dear  Angela,  we  all  know  the  power  of  your 
wiles — I — I  mean  charms;  but  in  this  case  they  wiU 
not  prevail.  The  young  man  abjures  female  society. 
Whether  it 's  fright,  or  Scotch  caution,  or  what,  I 
don't  know;  but  you  might  as  well  try  to  make  an  im- 
pression on  a  shortbread  sweetie  as  on  the  heart  of 
Bawbee  Jock." 

"  Poor  Bawbee  Jock ! "  said  Angela.  "  Look — Lady 
Di  has  swooped  down  on  him.  I  'm  sure  he  's  dread- 
fully afraid  of  her." 

"No  wonder,"  murmured  Captain  de  Burgh. 
"  She  'd  frighten  a  scarecrow ! "  And  his  eyes  strayed 
towards  the  masculine-looking  lady  standing  on  the 


A  Stranger  on  His  Own  Estate        7 

hearthrug  who  had  captured  the  newcomer,  to  his 
evident  embarrassment. 

Captain  de  Burgh's  eyes  came  back  to  Angela's 
face  and  he  said  gravely: 

"  I  suppose  you  know,  Miss  Tempest,  that  when  you 
come  out  with  the  guns  to-morrow  you  '11  be  expected 
to  wear  the  same  kind  of  thing  as  what  Lady  Di  's 
got  on.     She  calls  it  her  kilt." 

"Shall  I?"  Angela  laughed;  and  then  she  looked 
Flossie  up  and  down  and  laughed  again.  "  That 's  the 
only  thing  that  has  disappointed  me  in  the  High- 
lands," she  said.  "  I  have  not  seen  a  man  in  a  kilt  yet. 
I  expected  you  to  meet  me  at  the  station  dressed  in 
a  kilt,  Flossie.     Why  did  n't  you?" 

"Oh,  indeed,"  retorted  Flossie,  "and  be  snap- 
shotted from  the  train  as  it  was  moving  out  of  the 
station  by  some  beastly  newspaper  correspondent." 

"It  needn't  have  been  a  beastly  one,"  corrected 
Angela.  "Perhaps  some  quite  nice  one.  And  he 
would  have  put  you  in  his  paper  and  said  something 
interesting  about  you.  'Lord  Francis  Carleton  is 
paying  his  usual  round  of  visits  in  the  Highlands  and 
has  adopted  the  national  dress.'  Or — or  perhaps  he 
would  have  mistaken  you  for  a  real  chief.  Oh!  Flos- 
sie, think  of  that — a  real  Highland  chief!" 

Captain  de  Burgh's  eyes  ran  slowly  over  Flossie's 
smooth  pink  face  and  plump  figiire. 

"It  would  tax  the  imagination  of  even  a  newspaper 
correspondent  to  take  you  for  a  Highland  chief,"  he 
remarked. 

"Oh !  they  stick  at  nothing,"  answered  Flossie  airily. 
"Do  you  remember  that  time  at  Monte  Carlo  when  I 
was  helping  you  to  recruit  from  the  scars  of  battle? — 


8  Bawbee  Jock 

the  night  in  the  smoking-room,  when  we  surprised  that 
mixed  lot  round  the  table  where  the  English  illus- 
trateds  were  laid  out?" 

Flossie  spread  out  his  hands  and  addressed  Angela. 

"  My  dear,  I  rashly  drew  near  to  see  what  the  row 
was  about,  and  one  of  them  spotted  me  and  went  off 
Uke  a  squib.  There  was  not  much  entente  cordiale  in 
the  air  then.  I  used  to  look  for  a  pro-Boer  under  my 
bed  every  night.  This  chap,  he  kept  on  banging  the 
table  and  thumping  at  something,  and  then  shouting 
at  me.  He  had  n't  even  the  modesty  to  shout  in  his 
own  language. 

"  '  Your  zoldjers !  Ze  are  nodding  but  old  veemans ! 
Ze  ride  in  ze  petticoat ! '  he  bellowed  at  me. 

"  I  meekly  tried  to  defend  oiu-  forces,  but  he  flour- 
ished the  paper  in  my  face.  There  it  was — a  gaudy 
illustration  of  a  Highlander,  and  written  underneath 
it,  'The  Scottish  Horse.'  There  was  nothing  left  for 
me  to  do  but  look  silly.  I  murmured  something 
vaguely  explanatory,  but  he  only  leered  at  me,  most 
offensively,  and  said; 

"  'Ven  ze  vind  blows,  vat  vould  ze  do,  zese  old 
veemens  who  ride  in  ze  petticoat?' 

"  *  They  'd  sit  tight  and  let  the  wind  blow,  and  swish 
your  blooming  head  off  if  you  came  too  near,'  I  an- 
swered, and  walked  away.  No  decent  foreigner  would 
have  said  a  thing  Hke  that,  but —  Ugh!  By  the  way, 
Beauty,  did  you  ever  find  out  about  that  most 
misleading  caricature,  or  whatever  it  was?" 

"No;  but  I  believe  that  the  officers  of  the  Scottish 
Horse  do  wear  a  kilt,  as  a  sort  of  ball  mess-dress.  The 
paper  would  n't  take  the  trouble  to  explain  that." 

"Well,  I  am  very  disappointed,"  said  Angela,  look- 


A  Stranger  on  His  Own  Estate       9 

ing  round  the  room.  "No  one  is  in  a  kilt — not  even 
Bawbee  Jock." 

"I  never  saw  him  out  of  one  before,"  said  Captain 
de  Burgh. 

"What  a  funny  little  green  coat  that  is  of  Lady 
Di's,"  continued  Angela.  "It's  trimmed  with  such 
crowds  of  buttons." 

"She  calls  that  her  doublet,"  said  Flossie.  "Did 
you  ever  see  such  a  heap  of  buttons?  I  tried  to  count 
them  when  she  was  sitting  beside  me  at  lunch,  and  it 
made  me  feel  quite  giddy." 

"You  did  n't  account  for  many  birds  after  Itmch,  I 
noticed,"  said  Captain  de  Burgh. 

Flossie  rose  with  dignity. 

"I  shall  take  no  notice  of  that  remark,"  he  said; 
"I  'm  going  to  play  bridge." 

Angela  watched  his  retreating  figure  with  smiling 
eyes. 

"Is  n't  he  a  dear?"  she  said.  "It 's  so  nice  to  see 
him  again." 

Captain  de  Burgh  was  also  watching  Flossie. 

"I  never  can  quite  reconcile  the  idea  of  Flossie 
being  a  guardian,"  he  said. 

"My  guardian,  you  mean.  Why?"  asked  An- 
gela. 

"Oh!  I  don't  know.  He  's  not  the  kind  of  cut  of  a 
figure  for  a  guardian,  somehow." 

"I  think  my  father  must  have  been  a  very  clever 
man  to  choose  Flossie  as  my  guardian,"  said  Angela. 
"There  is  nothing  Flossie  can't  do — if  he  wants  to. 
He  has  been  the  cleverest  and  kindest  and  nicest 
guardian  that  any  girl  could  have  had." 

"Well,  he  's  unique,  anyhow,"  admitted  Captain  de 


10  Bawbee  Jock 

Burgh.  "Flossie  is  everything  that  you  would  think 
by  the  look  of  him  that  he  was  not." 

"Of  course  he  is,"  answered  Angela  with  asperity. 
"And  that  is  what  makes  him  so  nice.  Obvious 
people  are  dreadfully  dull." 

"He  can  shoot,  and  he  's  quite  good  on  a  horse, 
and  he  can  talk  about  anything.  And  he  's  a  mar- 
vellous organiser — runs  people's  shows  for  them  better 
than  they  can  for  themselves,"  mused  Beauty  lazily. 
"Good  old  Flossie!  He  always  does  the  right  thing; 
even  to  going  away  when  he  's  not  wanted." 

Angela  raised  her  eyebrows. 

"I  did  not  wish  him  to  go  away,"  she  said. 

"Did  n't  you?    Well,  I  did." 

The  words  were  spoken  in  a  low  voice,  so  softly 
that  they  sounded  almost  like  a  caress.  Captain  de 
Btu-gh  drew  his  chair  round  a  little  farther.  This  at- 
titude gave  the  impression  of  isolating  himself  and  his 
companion.  No  one  understood  the  value  of  mono- 
polising a  position  more  thoroughly  than  "Beauty" 
de  Burgh,  as  he  was  commonly  called  in  his  own  set. 
He  was  a  past-master  in  the  art  of  wooing  a  woman, 
whether  he  loved  her  or  not.  But  it  happened  that  in 
this  case  he  was  very  much  in  love,  more  so  than  he 
found  at  all  comfortable  for  his  peace  of  mind;  and  the 
fact  that  the  object  of  his  affection  gave  him  no  clue 
to  the  state  of  her  feelings  added  enormously  to  her 
charm. 

Angela  leant  back  in  her  chair  and  drew  her  gloves 
backwards  and  forwards  through  her  slim  fingers  and 
gently  pulled  out  the  creases.  She  listened  silently  to 
the  soft  caressing  voice;  sometimes  flashing  a  side- 
glance  at  the  speaker  from  under  her  dark  lashes. 


A  Stranger  on  His  Own  Estate      ii 

This  man  had  persistently  and  systematically  made 
love  to  her  for  a  whole  year;  but  so  many  other  men 
had  done  the  same  thing.  From  her  cradle  upwards 
men  had  been  her  slaves.  She  accepted  their  homage 
unquestioningly,  for  she  had  never  known  a  time  when 
it  had  not  been  offered  to  her. 

There  were  people  who  accused  Angela  of  being  a 
flirt.  In  the  common  sense  of  the  word  she  was  not, 
because  she  never  angled  for  admiration.  An  innate 
pride  and  fastidiousness  would  have  told  her  that  it 
was  vulgar  to  cheapen  herself  to  the  crowd.  She  did 
not  require  to  do  that. 

Angela's  friends  were  beginning  to  wonder  a  little 
what  she  was  going  to  make  of  her  life.  She  was 
twenty-one,  and  she  was  her  own  mistress,  controller 
of  her  own  destiny.  She  seemed  as  heart-whole  at 
twenty-one  as  she  had  been  at  seventeen;  sometimes 
she  wondered  herself  what  she  was  going  to  make  of 
her  life.  She  could  not  prevent  men  falling  in  love 
with  her;  and,  in  justice  to  herself,  it  must  be  said 
that  when  the  inevitable  happened  she  was  always 
sorry. 

Had  she  a  heart,  or  had  she  not?  she  often  asked 
herself.  Sometimes  a  vague,  intangible  something 
spoke  to  her  in  a  language  which  she  could  not  read: 
spoke  to  her  in  the  voice  of  a  song,  in  the  innocent 
eyes  of  a  child,  in  the  twilight  hush  of  a  summer's 
night.  Sometimes  she  longed  to  love — passionately, 
unreasoningly ;  and  then  recoiled  in  shrinking  terror 
when  the  thing  men  called  love  was  poured  out 
slavishly  at  her  feet. 

A  shrewd,  worldly-wise  old  man  had  prophesied  of 
Angela  when  she  was  still  at  the  stage  of  short  frocks 


12  Bawbee  Jock 

and  pinafores:  "If  she  marries  the  right  man,  he  'll 
make  her;  if  she  marries  the  wrong  one,  then  God  help 
the  man!" 

He  was  still  waiting  to  see  the  fulfilment  of  his 
prophecy. 


CHAPTER  II 

ANGELA  EXERTS  HER  FASCINATION 

DOLLY  POTTER  was,  as  her  brother  had  re- 
marked, a  bad  hostess.  Not  from  intention, 
but  a  curious  kind  of  vagueness  characterised  her 
actions;  and  she  had  no  sense  of  proportion  with 
regard  to  time. 

She  was  a  pretty,  fragile  creature;  and  she  wore 
beautiful  clothes,  with  an  odd,  unfinished  sort  of  artis- 
tic untidiness,  as  though  she  had  dressed  in  a  hurry 
and  forgotten  to  look  at  herself  in  the  glass  before  she 
came  downstairs. 

At  twenty  minutes  past  the  dinner  hour,  when  the 
latest  laggard  amongst  her  guests  was  beginning  to 
despair,  she  fluttered  into  the  drawing-room,  dropping 
confused  apologies  from  right  to  left,  and  then  came  to 
a  standstill,  looking  wistfully  round  her,  as  if  in  search 
of  help. 

"It 's  all  right,  dear  lady,"  said  a  soothing  voice  at 
her  elbow,  and  Flossie  appeared  with  a  green  flower- 
pot under  his  arm.  ' '  We  're  making  the  ladies  draw  for 
whom  they  're  to  take  in  to  dinner,"  he  said.  "Only 
two  papers  left.  Now,  that 's  me — that  little  curled- 
up  one  in  the  comer.  Do  take  it !  It 's  so  discourag- 
ing always  being  passed  over.  Thanks!  so  kind  of 
you,"  and  he  whisked  away  the  flower-pot  before 

13 


14  Bawbee  Jock 

Dolly  had  time  to  hesitate,  and  presented  it  to  Angela, 
who  was  standing  close  by. 

' '  The  last,"  he  whispered ;  "  you  've  no  choice.  I  've 
been  keeping  it  up  my  sleeve  for  you  all  the  time. 
Don't  let  him  see  it.     It 's  for  your  eye  alone." 

Angela  unrolled  the  scrap  of  paper.  "Bawbee 
Jock"  was  written  across  it  in  Flossie's  neat 
handwriting. 

Captain  de  Burgh  was  seen  making  his  way  across 
the  room;  he  stopped  in  front  of  Angela. 

"I  hope  I  am  the  lucky  man?"  he  said. 

She  shook  her  head  gently. 
-    The  Beauty  scowled. 

"Silly  rot,  this  game  of  Flossie's,"  he  said  crossly. 
"  I  was  to  take  you  in  to  dinner.     DoUy  knew  that." 

"I  thought  you  said  Flossie  always  did  the  right 
thing,"  said  Angela  sweetly.  Her  glance  went  past 
him.  "Lady  Di  drew  you,  and  she's  always  very 
cross  when  she  's  hungry,  so  I  should  advise  you  not 
to  keep  her  waiting.  Talk  vegetarianism  to  her. 
That  always  soothes  her." 

With  a  Httle  nod  the  Beauty  found  himself  dis- 
missed, and  Angela  stood  quietly  watching  the  oddly- 
assorted  procession  of  men  and  women,  very  few  of 
whom  seemed  to  have  been  rightly  paired,  file  past 
her  through  the  folding-doors  into  the  dining-room. 

One  other  watcher,  half-hidden  in  the  shadow  of  a 
curtain,  stood  alone,  and  when  any  one  approached 
him  he  drew  back  and  flushed  nervously  under  his 
deep  tan.  A  handsome  woman  with  sleepy  eyes  and  a 
wicked  mouth  swept  up  to  her  host  who  was  standing 
near.  With  a  significant  "You  're  my  boy,  Monty," 
she  put  her  hand  through  his  arm  and  passed  on.    Her 


Angela  Exerts  Her  Fascination      15 

trailing  skirts  brushed  the  feet  of  the  silent  watcher, . 
and  the  heavy  perfume  of  scent  rose  to  his  nostrils. 

He  gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  One  by  one  the  other 
couples  had  disappeared;  the  room  was  almost  empty; 
and  he  had  not  been  claimed.  Perhaps — and  he  took 
heart  at  the  thought — perhaps  he  had  been  forgotten, 
or  perhaps  there  were  not  enough  women  to  go  round. 

"May  I  have  the  pleasure  of  taking  you  in  to 
dinner?" 

The  low,  sweet  voice  sounded  close  beside  him;  he 
started  violently,  and  looked  down  into  a  radiant 
flower-like  face  upraised  to  his.  The  dark  eyes  smiled 
at  him,  and  the  lovely  mouth  which  had  just  framed 
the  words  smiled  at  him  also,  and  the  little  rounded 
chin  was  tilted  expectantly  upwards.  She  was  wait- 
ing for  him  to  answer;  and  a  paralysing  numbness 
held  him  tongue-tied. 

"I  hope  that  I  have  not  made  a  mistake,"  went  on 
the  pretty  voice.  "But — we  're  the  only  two  left,  so  I 
think  you  must  be —    Are   you   Mr.   Mackenzie?" 

"Yes,"  he  stammered;  and  after  that  he  did  not 
remember  very  well  what  happened.  He  must  have 
offered  her  his  arm;  for  the  next  thing  that  he  was 
conscious  of  was  that  her  hand  was  resting  on  it  and 
that  they  were  passing  through  the  folding-doors  into 
the  dining-room.  He  had  a  perturbed  recollection 
afterwards  of  having  trod  on  her  dress  when  he  stood 
back  to  allow  an  officious  footman  to  draw  out  her 
chair,  and  that  she  said,  "Oh,  it  doesn't  matter." 
Then  he  found  himself  sitting  at  his  own  dinner-table 
in  an  unaccustomed  place,  and  his  surroundings  were 
familiar,  but  he  felt  an  utter  stranger  amongst  them. 
The  lights  and  the  flowers  and  the  faces  were  all 


l6  Bawbee  Jock 

jumbled  up  together  in  a  kind  of  mist;  and  the  only 
thing  which  appeared  real  was  his  mother's  face,  look- 
ing down  at  him  from  the  painted  canvas  on  the  wall 
opposite. 

Her  eyes  seemed  to  reproach  him.  There  was  a 
sad,  yearning  appeal  in  their  gaze.  Something  gripped 
at  his  throat — something  that  he  choked  back  and 
tried  to  stifle.  "I — can't  do  it";  and  then  a  kind  of 
terror  seized  hold  upon  him,  for  he  thought  he  had 
said  the  words  aloud. 

"Please — would  you  mind  passing  me  the  salt? 
I  'm  so  sorry  to  have  to  ask  for  it  so  often." 

"I — I  beg  your  pardon.  I'm  afraid  I  wasn't 
listening." 

Jock  Mackenzie  blurted  out  the  words  spasmodic- 
ally. 

The  corners  of  Angela's  mouth  twitched.  Never, 
in  her  experience  of  men,  had  one  of  them  dared  to 
confess  that  he  was  not  listening  when  she  spoke.  It 
was  a  new  sensation,  and  she  liked  new  sensations. 
Her  smile  was  very  sweet  as  she  glanced  up  into  the 
face  above  her. 

It  was  a  plain  face,  with  strongly  marked  features. 
His  hair  was  just  on  that  doubtful  borderland  between 
red  and  sandy;  it  was  very  short,  and  showed  the 
suspicion  of  a  little  crimp  where  it  was  brushed  back 
from  his  temples.  Exposure  to  all  weathers  had 
tanned  his  skin  deeply,  and  from  out  of  the  very 
brown  face  a  pair  of  blue  eyes  met  Angela's  dark  ones. 
They  were  curiously  blue,  and  were  fixed  upon  her 
with  a  concentrated  intentness  which  was  evidently 
characteristic  of  their  owner. 

"He  's  very  much  in  earnest,"  murmured  Angela  to 


Angela  Exerts  Her  Fascination      17 

herself.  "Poor  thing!  he  'd  be  so  much  happier  if  he 
was  n't." 

She  finished  her  soup,  and,  taking  a  piece  of  toast 
from  the  little  silver  rack  beside  her  plate,  began  to 
break  it  up  slowly.  Then  she  clasped  her  hands  on 
the  edge  of  the  tablecloth  and  exclaimed  impulsively : 

"This  is  the  first  time  that  I  have  ever  been  in 
a  Scotch  house,  and  I  think  it  is  charming — quite 
charming." 

A  quick  flash  of  pride,  surprised  pleasure,  shone  for 
a  moment  in  the  eyes  of  the  man  looking  down  at  her, 
and  then  vanished. 

' '  And  your  country !  Your  moors !  All  these  miles 
and  miles  of  heather!     It  is  simply  glorious!" 

Angela  was  generous  in  her  praise  and  impetuous 
of  expression  when  her  sympathies  were  aroused. 

"I  made  the  chauffeur  drive  slowly,  coming  from 
the  station  this  afternoon — which  I  'm  sure  he  did  not 
like,"  she  said.  "And  once  I  made  him  stop  alto- 
gether, and  I  jumped  out  and  gathered  a  great  bunch 
of  heather.  It  smelt  like  honey ;  and  the  coloiu:  of  it  I 
I  never  saw  such  a  coloiu*.  Oh !  it  was  all  quite  beauti- 
ful, and  not  like  anything  I  have  ever  seen  before." 

"It's  been  a  fine  season  for  the  heather,"  said 
Jock. 

The  answer  amused  Angela. 

"You  say  that  as  if  you  were  talking  about  cab- 
bages, or  green  peas.  Don't  you  love  these  moors? 
You  must.     How  can  you  help  it?" 

The  footman's  arm  and  an  entree  dish  intervened; 
she  did  not  see  the  effect  of  her  words,  and  there 
was  no  answer. 

The  lack  of  response  to  her  enthusiasm  surprised  her 


1 8  Bawbee  Jock 

a  little.  It  was  so  unusual  for  her  to  have  an  unre- 
sponsive listener,  and  the  novelty  of  it  stirred  her 
sense  of  humour.  She  was  saying  such  nice  things  to 
this  young  man,  making  herself  so  charming;  and  he 
did  not  seem  to  realise  that  quite  an  imusual  favour 
was  being  bestowed  on  him. 

She  glanced  across  the  table.  Through  a  vista  of 
flowers  and  candelabra  and  trailing  smilax  she  caught 
a  gUmpse  of  Flossie's  face.  "I  told  you  so!"  was 
written  plainly  all  over  it.  She  looked  down  and  bit 
her  lip;  a  sparkling  light  of  mischief  flickered  under 
her  lowered  lashes. 

During  the  half -hour  which  followed  there  was  no 
doubt  whatever  that  Angela  Tempest  used  every  sub- 
tle charm,  every  seductive  art,  every  soft  inflection  of 
voice  of  which  a  pretty  woman  is  mistress,  for  the 
subjugation  of  this  big,  shy,  plain-featured  young 
man.  For  some  unaccountable  reason  he  had  aroused 
her  interest. 

How  could  he  resist  her?  He  would  have  been 
astonished  and  incredulous  had  he  been  told  that  any 
woman  would  think  it  worth  her  while  to  try  to  en- 
slave him.  He  had  a  very  modest  opinion  of  him- 
self. He  was  very  single-minded,  and  entertained  a 
diffident  reverence  for  women.  Those  soft  dark  eyes ! 
That  low  voice,  which  had  such  a  delicious  quality  of 
sweetness  in  its  vibrations!  Those  pretty,  impulsive, 
sympathetic  nothings  which  fell  from  her  lips !  They 
opened  to  him  the  gates  of  a  new  world  and  spoke  to 
him  in  a  new  language. 

His  perceptions  quickened,  vitalised.  He  stole 
glances  at  her  when  he  thought  she  was  not  looking. 
He  realised  that  she  was  different  to  every  other 


Angela  Exerts  Her  Fascination     19 

woman  in  the  room.  Man-like,  he  could  not  have  told 
what  she  wore,  and  an  elusive  and  subtle  charm  made 
Angela's  clothes  subjective  to  her  personality;  but 
her  dress  appeared  to  him  very  simple,  and  its  sim- 
plicity pleased  him.  No  ornaments  spoilt  the  lovely 
curves  of  her  neck  and  arms ;  they  were  soft  and  white 
and  rounded  as  a  child's.  The  only  thing  that  he 
could  have  described  about  her  definitely,  was  the  bit 
of  sky-blue  ribbon  which  twisted  with  fascinating 
inconsequence  in  and  out  of  her  dark  hair.  It  had  a 
fluttery  end,  which  almost  brushed  his  shotdder  when 
she  moved  her  head,  and  there  was  something  about 
that  bit  of  blue  ribbon  which  made  him  feel  that  he 
had  known  it  aU  his  life.  A  beautiful  ancestress  of  his 
own,  whose  portrait  hung  in  the  hall,  was  painted  with 
a  blue  ribbon  in  her  hair;  and  often  in  his  boyish  days 
he  had  stood  underneath  the  picture  and  shyly  adored 
the  proud  beauty  who  looked  scornfully  down  on  her 
plain  little  descendant. 

He  coiild  not  have  analysed  his  sensations  or  de- 
scribed how  they  affected  him;  he  only  knew  that 
she  was  different  from  any  woman  he  had  ever 
seen  or  that  his  imagination  had  pictured.  Every- 
thing she  did  and  said  and  looked  and  was,  was 
vitally  distinctive  of  herself.  He  saw  her  through 
the  glamour  of  the  spell  which  she  had  thrown  over 
him. 

When  she  rose  from  the  table  she  made  him  a  little 
mocking  bow  and  left  him  with  some  pretty  words 
ringing  in  his  ears.  They  meant,  "Till  we  meet 
again";  and  his  eyes  followed  her  as  she  passed  out 
through  the  folding-doors. 

There  was  a  very  sulky  expression  on  Captain  de 


20  Bawbee  Jock 

Burgh's  handsome  face  as  he  opened  the  door  for 
the  ladies  to  leave  the  dining-room. 

"I  hope  you  have  had  a  pleasant  time,"  he  said 
to  Angela,  as  she  passed  out. 

"Very,"  she  answered.  And  it  did  not  improve 
his  temper  to  find,  when  he  entered  the  drawing-room 
later,  that  she  appeared  serenely  unaware  that  he  was 
cross.  She  ignored  his  attempts  to  monopolise  her 
society.  Some  exuberant  spirits  started  playing 
childish  games,  and  she  allowed  herself  to  be  drawn 
into  their  circle,  and  played  as  happily  as  a  little  girl 
at  her  first  party. 

Flossie  was  the  ringleader  of  the  revels.  He  did 
not  take  any  important  part  in  them  himself;  he  sug- 
gested, and  started  them,  and  then  looked  on. 

"Oh,  Flossie,  I'm  so  hot!"  pleaded  Dolly  after 
half  an  hoiur's  violent  exercise.  She  sank  exhausted 
into  a  chair.  "Do  think  of  a  game  that  makes  us 
sit  still." 

Flossie  looked  round  on  the  dishevelled  remnants 
of  his  band;  the  only  one  who  remained  cool  and  un- 
ruffled was  Angela. 

"Get  out  the  roulette  board,  and  hand  me  that 
black  velvet  bag,"  said  Lady  Di  in  her  strident  voice; 
and  Flossie  did  as  he  was  told. 

"Old  harridan!"  he  murmured  to  Angela.  "She 
cleaned  us  all  out  last  night." 

Angela  drew  in  her  chair  to  the  table;  there  was  a 
vacant  seat  beside  her  and  she  glanced  over  her 
shoulder. 

"Mr.  Mackenzie,  won't  you  come  and  play?"  she 
said. 

Jock  had  not  joined  in  the  games,  but  Angela  was 


Angela  Exerts  Her  Fascination     21 

quite  aware  of  the  fact  that  he  had  been  watching 
her.     She  laid  her  hand  on  the  vacant  seat. 

"Please,"  she  said  softly. 

The  colour  rushed  up  to  his  temples. 

"I— I  don't  play,"  he  said. 

She  still  kept  her  hand  on  the  chair. 

"  You  need  not  play.     Look  on,  and  wish  me  luck." 

He  hesitated,  and  was  lost. 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  '11  be  no  use,"  he  said  as  he  sat  down. 
"I  'm  not  a  lucky  person." 

"Perhaps  you  will  be  lucky  when  you  are  wishing 
me  luck.  You  shall  stake  for  me";  and  she  glanced 
up  into  his  face  and  laughed.  It  was  such  a  pretty 
laugh.  It  sent  all  kinds  of  odd  thrills  running  through 
his  veins,  and  that  fluttering  end  of  ribbon  was  almost 
touching  his  shoulder  again.  The  grey,  dull,  emotion- 
less self — the  self  which  rigid  discipline  had  almost 
ground  him  down  to  be  what  he  appeared  to  be — 
slipped  momentarily  from  him.  A  smile  lit  up  his 
face.  It  transformed  the  plain  featiires  so  magically 
that  Angela  gave  a  little  gasp  of  astonishment.  She 
turned  her  head  aside  quickly;  swift  compunction,  a 
sharp  unreasoning  pity  for  she  knew  not  what, 
brought  the  tears  to  her  eyes.  She  could  not  have  ex- 
plained to  herself  what  the  feeKng  meant;  she  thrust 
it  away  from  her  quickly. 

"Flossie,  do  begin!  What  are  we  waiting  for?" 
she  cried,  and  then  added,  "  Mr.  Mackenzie  is  going  to 
stake  for  me,  and  we  're  going  to  win  everything — 
are  n't  we?" 

She  laid  a  small  jewelled  purse  on  the  table  and 
pushed  it  towards  him. 

"What  am  I  to  do  with  it?"  he  asked. 


22  Bawbee  Jock 

"Count  how  much  there  is  inside,"  she  answered; 
and  he  obeyed.  To  unfasten  the  clasp,  to  handle 
a  thing  which  belonged  entirely  and  exclusively  to 
herself,  gave  him  a  kind  of  fearful  joy. 

He  laid  the  money  out  on  the  green  cloth.  There 
was  very  little,  and  she  touched  each  coin  with  the 
tips  of  her  fingers.  He  noticed  what  pretty  hands  she 
had,  and  she  wore  no  rings. 

"My" — she  hesitated — "my  b-bawbees,"  she  said, 
with  a  soft  stammer. 

Jock's  eyes  fixed  her  with  that  look  of  intensity. 

"I  did  not  think  you  would  have  known  the  mean- 
ing of  that  word,"  he  said. 

She  shook  her  head,  and  the  blue  ribbon  fluttered. 

"Perhaps  I  don't." 

"But — you  must!    You  used  it  right,"  he  said. 

"It 's  time  to  stake,"  she  answered  quickly.  "You 
choose  a  number,  and  be  sure  and  bring  me  luck." 

The  wheel  spun  its  round.  Time  after  time  Angela's 
stake  was  risked;  time  after  time  she  saw  her  little 
pile  swept  away  and  added  to  some  one  else's  pile, 
until  she  had  staked  her  all,  and  lost. 

Flossie  was  holding  the  bank.  She  stretched  out 
her  hand  and  asked  him  to  lend  her  some  money. 

"Sorry  I  can't  oblige  you,"  he  said,  "but  Lady 
Di''s  broke  the  bank." 

"What  a  shame!    I  did  so  want  to  win  back,"  she 
exclaimed,  appeaHng  to  the  man  who  was  watching 
her,  and  who  was  miserably  conscious  of  the  fact  that 
it  was  he  who  had  brought  her  her  bad  luck. 
'  "Let  me  be  yotu*  banker!"  he  said  impulsively. 

Excitement  had  brought  a  lovely  colour  to  her 
cheeks.     She  nodded  and  smiled. 


Angela  Exerts  Her  Fascination      23 

"How  nice  of  you!"  she  answered.  "We'll 
have  one  more  gamble.  How  much  shall  it  be?  A  big 
one?" 

He  took  a  small  handful  of  loose  silver  from  his 
pocket. 

"That 's  all  I  have  on  me,"  he  said. 

"We'll  stake  it  at  one  go,"  she  cried  recklessly. 
"I'll  choose  the  number  this  time.     Now,  watch!" 

Whiz!  Round  spun  the  needle.  It  slowed,  wa- 
vered, gave  a  final  quiver,  and  stopped  on  the 
number  next  to  Angela's. 

"How  perfectly  maddening!"  she  exclaimed.  She 
spread  out  her  hands,  palms  uppermost.  "What  shall 
I  do?  All  my  money  gone!  All  my  savings  lost!" 
She  made  a  rueful  grimace.  "Bankrupt!  I  shall 
have  to  wear  cleaned  gloves  and  travel  third  class  for 
the  next  six  months.     Is  n't  it  awful?" 

"I  'm  so  sorry,"  he  said  remorsefully.  "It  was  all 
my  fault.  I  ought  not  to  have  allowed  you  to  make 
me  your  'luck.'  " 

"Oh!  that  was  my  own  doing;  I  took  the  risk,"  she 
answered.  "How  much  do  I  owe  you?  I  forgot  to 
count." 

"Never  mind,"  he  answered  hastily.  "I  lost  all 
yours  first,  you  know.  You  put  on  for  me  that  last 
time.     We  're  quits." 

"Partners  in  misfortune,"  she  laughed. 

"Partners,"  he  repeated  after  her  slowly. 

Glennfoira  was  an  old  house,  and  had  not  as  yet 
been  modernised  by  electricity  or  any  other  up-to- 
date  mode  of  lighting.  Good-nights  were  exchanged 
round  a  long  table  in  the  hall,  on  which  was  laid  out  a 
glittering  row  of  bedroom  candlesticks. 


24  Bawbee  Jock 

"Take  care  and  don't  dribble  the  grease  on  the 
stair-carpet,"  said  Flossie,  as  he  handed  Angela  her 
candlestick.  "It's  so  bad  for  the  housemaid's 
morals." 

"You  're  a  very  bad  lighter  of  candles,"  retorted 
Angela,  paying  no  attention  to  his  remark.  "Mine 
has  gone  out  already." 

They  were  standing  quite  at  the  end  of  the  long 
table,  and  beyond  it  the  hall  was  in  shadow. 

Flossie  scratched  a  match,  and  Angela  blew  it  out 
with  a  soft  little  "poof."  He  put  the  match-box  in 
his  pocket. 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  "you  can  go  to  bed  in  the 
dark,  and  there  's  a  ghost !  It  walks  about  with  its 
head  under  its  arm.  It  will  serve  you  jolly  well  right 
if  it  walks  into  your  room.  Your  behaviour  this  even- 
ing has  been  scandalous !  I  blushed  for  you  all  through 
dinner,  and  afterwards !  The  way  you  rooked  Bawbee 
Jock!" 

"Flossie!"  remonstrated  Angela. 

"  May  the  ghosts  of  his  ancestors  haunt  your  slum- 
bers," miu"mured  Flossie;  and,  slipping  past  her,  he 
picked  up  his  candlestick  and  disappeared. 

Angela  tiimed,  to  find  the  man  of  whom  they  had 
been  speaking  standing  close  beside  her.  He  must 
have  heard  their  remarks.  If  she  had  had  any  hopes 
that  he  had  not,  her  first  glance  at  his  face  unde- 
ceived her.  She  was  beginning  to  understand  what 
that  look  in  the  blue  eyes  meant.  Its  directness  was 
disconcerting. 

"Do  they  call  me  that?"  he  said,  with  an  odd  jerk 
in  his  voice. 

Angela  flushed. 


Angela  Exerts  Her  Fascination     25 

"People  are  never  given  nicknames  unless  they  're 
— unless  they  're  liked,"  she  said  hurriedly. 

"Do  you  know  why  they  call  me  that?"  he  asked. 

"I — "  she  caught  her  breath  quickly.  Then  she 
raised  her  head;  the  Hght  danced  in  her  eyes  and  the 
corners  of  her  mouth  trembled.  "B-bawbee!  Don't 
you  think  it 's  a  dear  little  name?  "  she  said.  "  I  do — 
I  Hke  it !  I  think — I  think  '  Bawbee  Jock '  sounds  very 
pretty." 

She  had  saved  the  situation.  That  rare  swift 
smile  flashed  across  the  plain  face  and  transformed  it 
almost  to  beauty.  The  colotir  mounted  again  to  his 
temples. 

"It  does  when  you  say  it,"  he  answered. 

Upstairs  in  her  own  room  Angela  sat  in  front  of  her 
looking-glass  and  regarded  herself  with  a  frown 
puckering  her  brow.  She  wore  a  long  white  dressing- 
gown  and  her  hair  had  been  brushed  out  for  the  night. 

"You  can  go  to  bed,  Antoinette,"  she  said  in 
French  to  a  tall  woman  in  black,  who  was  standing  in 
the  background.  And  Antoinette,  whom  a  midnight 
journey  and  a  long  motor-drive  had  made  cross  as 
well  as  sleepy,  accepted  her  mistress's  dismissal  with- 
out demur. 

Angela  was  not  at  all  sleepy.  •  She  sat  on,  her  chin 
resting  on  her  clasped  hands,  and  began  to  talk  to  her 
own  reflection.  She  had  a  childish  trick  of  hold- 
ing conversation  with  herself;  she  sometimes  did  it 
unconsciously. 

"It's  quite  true  what  Flossie  said — you've  been 
behaving  scandalously!  You  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  yourself!  You've  been — flirting!  You've  never 
done  such  a  thing  before,  and  you  don't  know  why  you 


26  Bawbee  Jock 

did  it.  'Bawbee  Jock.'  "  She  murmtired  the  name 
softly  under  her  breath;  then  she  paused,  and  frowned 
at  the  eyes  which  looked  back  at  her.  "It — was  like 
hurting  a  child  to  play  with  him  the  way  you  did. 
And  you  did  play!  You  played  deliberately.  Why 
did  you  do  it?" 

Yes,  why  had  she  done  it?  It  was  a  question  she 
could  not  answer.  Had  she  been  prompted  by  piqued 
vanity?  a  whimsical  ctuiosity  to  find  out  if  she  had 
limitations?  No!  If  something  in  this  man's  per- 
sonality had  not  interested  her,  she  would  have  left 
him  alone.  There  was  nothing  small  in  Angela's 
nature.  The  satisfaction  of  a  petty  triumph  would 
not  have  appealed  to  her. 

"I  hope  you  will  be  punished  as  you  deserve,"  she 
said  to  the  face  in  the  glass.  She  finished  her  un- 
dressing and,  blowing  out  the  candles,  jumped  into 
bed  in  a  hurry  because  she  suddenly  remembered 
Flossie's  threats  of  ghostly  terrors,  and  fell  into  a 
dreamless,  untroubled  sleep,  whilst  the  object  of  her 
reflections  stood  at  the  open  window  of  his  room  on 
the  floor  above,  and,  looking  out  across  the  wide 
moorlands  to  where  a  pale  glow  lightened  the  northern 
sky,  wondered  if  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth  had 
been  bom  for  him  since  the  rising  of  that  morning's 
sun. 

He  raised  his  arms  above  his  head  and  stretched  his 
limbs,  like  a  man  who  longs  to  rid  himself  of  some 
weary  burden. 

"  If  I  were  free !  If  I  could  only  see  the  end  of  it !  If 
it  was  my  own  hand  I  was  fighting  for ! "  he  murmured. 

He  dropped  his  arms;  the  hopelessness  of  finality 
was  in  the  gesture. 


Angela  Exerts  Her  Fascination      2^ 

"It 's  like  pouring  water  into  a  sieve!  I  never  felt 
the  grind  of  it  so  badly  before." 

He  moved  away  from  the  window  to  the  dressing- 
table,  and  turned  out  his  pockets.  His  expression 
softened. 

"  'Rooked  me' — that 's  what  that  little  man  they 
call  Flossie  said.  She  did  n't.  She  wanted  to  pay 
me  back,  and  she  's  poor.  '  Bankrupt !  All  my  sav- 
ings gone!'  That  was  what  she  said;  and  it  was  only 
a  few  shillings  that  she  lost.  It  must  be  rough  on  a 
girl  to  go  about  amongst  that  lot  and  be  poor,  and 
have  to  keep  up  with  them." 

He  wound  up  his  watch  and  put  it  under  his  pillow. 
That  night  his  sleep  was  haunted  by  a  confused  med- 
ley of  strange  dreams.  In  and  out  of  each  fleeting 
phantasy,  and  playing  hide-and-seek  with  his  elusive 
grasp,  fluttered  a  wisp  of  blue  ribbon.  He  woke  with 
the  dawn  creeping  through  the  open  window,  to  find 
that  it  was — only  a  dream. 


CHAPTER   III 


THE  COMMUNION  OF  TWO 


"  I  AM  starving!     I  could  eat  anything." 

1  For  goodness'  sake,  Angela,  don't  fix  me  with 
that  hungry  glare,  as  if  you  wanted  to  eat  me!" 

Flossie  skipped  nimbly  out  of  reach. 

"My  dear  girl,"  he  said,  shaking  the  skirts  of  his 
shooting-coat,  which  was  very  frilly  below  the  waist 
and  bulged  with  pockets  above,  "do  I  look  as  if  I  'd 
got  a  haggis,  or  a  bannock,  or  any  other  of  the  vile 
comestibles  of  this  heathen  land  hidden  about  me? 
You  make  me  feel  quite  nervous.  Don't  look  like 
that." 

Angela  clapped  her  hands  together  impatiently. 
•  "Feed  me  at  once!"  she  cried.  "What  is  inside 
that  delicious-looking  brown  pot?  It  smells  so  good! 
I  never  thought  walking  on  heather  could  be  so 
exhausting.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  running  in  a 
Marathon  race." 

Flossie  plunged  a  long  spoon  into  the  hot-pot. 

"Beauty,  hand  over  those  plates  and  make  your- 
self useful,  will  you?"  he  said.  "I  'm  so  tired  of  see- 
ing you  standing  about  doing  nothing.  What  put 
you  off  your  shooting  this  morning?" 

"I  drew  a  bad  number  to  begin  with,  and  I  Ve  had 
no  luck,"  grumbled  the  Beauty. 

28 


The  Communion  of  Two  29 

He  handed  Angela  her  plate,  and  after  supplying 
her  with  everything  that  she  required,  brought  his 
own  and  sat  down  beside  her. 

The  spot  was  an  ideal  one  for  a  shooting-picnic.  A 
hollow  in  the  hillside  gave  shelter  from  the  sun  and 
wind,  and  a  little  stream,  bubbling  out  from  the  grey 
rock  above,  had  burrowed  a  bed  for  itself  in  the  peaty 
soil.  On  every  side  stretched  the  moor,  the  pur- 
ple heather  basking  hot  in  the  sunshine.  Down  the 
sloping  shoulder  of  a  low  hill  at  the  back  could  be 
seen  the  line  of  butts  which  the  shooters  had  just 
vacated. 

"These  big  drives  are  a  nuisance,  if  they're  not 
properly  managed,"  grumbled  the  Beauty,  taking  a 
long,  thirsty  pull  at  his  glass.  "Monty  Potter  knows 
as  much  about  grouse-driving  as  he  does  about  the 
outside  of  a  horse,  and  that 's  not  much."  He  lifted 
his  glass  again  to  his  lips,  and  set  it  down  empty. 
"He  thinks  it 's  the  swagger  thing  to  take  a  moor.  I 
believe  he  hates  it  really." 

"I  suppose  it  's  a  very  good  moor,"  said  Angela. 
Her  gaze  wandered  to  the  great  stretches  of  purple. 
"It 's  beautiful — quite  beautiful!  It  seems  horrid  to 
want  to  eat  when  everything  is  so  lovely." 

The  Beauty  continued  to  grumble. 

"  Monty  's  got  thirteen  guns  out  to-day.  A  rotten 
bad  lot  the  most  of  them  are,  too." 

"Who  are  all  these  men?  "  asked  Angela.  "  They  're 
not  stopping  in  the  house.  I  don't  recognise  half  of 
them." 

Captain  de  Burgh  glanced  round  carelessly. 

"The  man  who  rents  the  next  shooting  has  brought 
over  his  party,"  he  said.     "That 's  what  Monty  likes: 


30  Bawbee  Jock 

a  crowd,  and  a  big  fat  lunch.    Such  a  waste  of  a 
place;  it 's  never  properly  shot." 

"Does  he  always  come  up  here?"  asked  Angela. 
.  The  Beauty  nodded. 

"He  's  got  the  place  on  lease.  I  expect  it  makes 
Bawbee  Jock  rather  sick  to  see  what  a  nice  muddle 
Monty  makes  of  things.  Bawbee  Jock  may  be  what 
he  likes,  but  he  's  a  rattling  good  shot — a.  sportsman 
through  and  through." 

Angela  looked  at  the  Beauty  with  a  kinder  ex- 
pression in  her  eyes  than  she  usually  favoiured  him 
with. 

"It  is  nice  of  you  to  say  that,"  she  said.  "I  like 
to  hear  men  say  generous  things  of  each  other." 

Beauty  began  to  look  sentimental,  and  she  changed 
the  subject  hastily. 

"I  want  something  more  to  eat,"  she  said,  "and  I 
don't  know  what  to  choose.  There  seems  to  be  such 
mountains  of  food.  No  wonder  you  chaffed  Flossie 
about  not  shooting  well  after  lunch." 

It  was  certainly  a  luxuriously  appointed  lunch  which 
was  spread  out  on  the  long  tables  set  up  on  the  green 
plateau  in  the  hollow  of  the  hillside.  They  groaned 
tmder  the  weight  of  every  luxury  which  the  skill  of  a 
French  chef  could  evolve.  In  the  background,  be- 
side the  bubbling  stream,  stood  a  large  ice- tub,  and  the 
heads  of  champagne  bottles  glinted  over  its  side;  and 
on  the  grass  beside  it  lay  more  bottles,  large  and 
small.  In  attendance  hovered  a  flock  of  very  English- 
looking  men-servants,  who  appeared  strangely  out  of 
keeping  with  the  scenery. 

Neither  the  host  nor  the  hostess  seemed  to  be  taking 
any  particular  responsibility  with  regard  to   their 


The  Communion  of  Two  31 

guests.  Occasionally  Dolly  Potter's  voice  was  raised 
plaintively. 

"Flossie!  Colonel  Leach  wants  to  know  about  this 
caviare.  Where  does  it  come  from?  Flossie!  Lady 
Di  says  that  eggs  are  n't  allowed  in  her  vegetarian  list 
— they  turn  into  chickens,  you  know;  and  Hawkins 
has  put  some  in  her  salad  sauce.     And,  Flossie " 

Angela  caught  hold  of  the  flapping  end  of  Flossie's 
waistband  as  he  was  passing  and  pulled  him  up  with 
a  jerk. 

"  Sit  down ! "  she  said  peremptorily.  "  You  have  n't 
eaten  a  single  morsel  of  lunch  yet.  Never  mind  these 
nasty,  greedy  people.  It  will  do  them  good  to  clamour 
for  what  they  can't  get." 

"But  they  '11  keep  on  clamouring,"  groaned  Flossie. 

"  Never  mind.  Turn  your  back  on  them  and  don't 
listen." 

Flossie  was  made  to  sit  down  on  the  heather.  He 
took  off  his  cap  and  mopped  his  forehead  with  a  mauve 
silk  pocket-handkerchief. 

"You  poor  dear,"  said  Angela,  "you  are  hot! 
There!"  and  she  placed  on  his  knee  a  plate  of  grouse 
pie  which  had  just  been  handed  to  her.  "Get  him 
something  to  drink,"  she  said,  turning  to  Captain  de 
Burgh. 

Flossie  picked  up  a  knife  and  fork  and  attacked  the 
pie. 

"What  was  Lady  Di  making  such  a  fuss  about?" 
asked  Angela. 

"About  how  long  it  would  take  for  a  hard-boiled 
egg  to  turn  into  a  chicken,"  mumbled  Flossie  with  his 
mouth  full  of  pie.  "Lord!  I  wouldn't  be  a  vege- 
tarian for  a  monkey-full  of  nuts.     She  's  sitting  there 


32  Bawbee  Jock 

gloating  over  a  beastly-looking  mess  of  lettuce  and 
cucumber  and  radishes,  and  the  devil  knows  what. 
You  should  have  seen  her  offering  some  to  that  old 
gourmet  Leach.  He  looked  at  it  with  rather  a  pinched 
smile  and  said  he  was  afraid  his  salad  days  were  over. 
Ugh!"  Flossie  grunted.  "She  went  on  munching. 
The  kind  of  stuff  you  'd  imagine  Nebuchadnezzar 
devotuing  with  his  claws." 

"I  believe  old  Leach  is  trying  to  marry  her,"  said 
Beauty.  "She  's  got  pots  of  money.  Do  you  think 
he  knows  about  number  one  and  number  two?  Num- 
ber one  ran  off  with  the  cook,  and  nimiber  two " 

"O  Lord!  he  was  an  out-and-out  loony,"  chimed 
in  Flossie.  "  If  you  went  to  call,  you  found  him  mow- 
ing the  lawn  in  a  pot  hat  and  pyjamas.  He  said  he 
had  something  the  matter  with  his  inside." 

"So  would  you,  if  you  were  fed  on  lime-juice  and 
radishes,"  murmured  Beauty.  "He  died — that  was 
Edwin.  When  it  was  full  moon  he  used  to  chuck  all 
the  china  out  of  the  drawing-room  window,  and  then 
go  to  bed  and  say  there  had  been  an  earthquake." 

Angela  laughed. 

"Poor  Lady  Di!"  she  said.  "She  always  used  to 
think  it  was  her  duty  to  tell  Flossie  how  he  ought 
to  bring  me  up.  Did  n't  she,  Flossie?  And  it  made 
you  so  cross,  especially  when  she  talked  about  your 
not  understanding  the  duties  of  a  mother." 

"  Dried-up  old  stick  I ' '  growled  Flossie.  "  What  did 
she  know  about  mothers?  Never  heard  the  cheep  of 
a  chicken  of  her  own!" 

"Flossie,  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  that 
merry-thought?"  said  Angela.  "Do  pull  it  with 
me. 


The  Communion  of  Two  33 

Flossie  held  out  the  merry-thought,  and  Angela, 
giving  it  a  little  pull,  snapped  off  the  bigger  end. 

' '  There ! ' '  she  said  gaily.  ' '  You  can  prepare  for  my 
wedding." 

"I  never  go  to  weddings,"  said  Flossie.  "People's 
emotions  get  so  fizzy.     I  might  be  kissed  by  mistake." 

"  Well,  you  would  n't  be  kissed  on  purpose,  any- 
how," said  the  Beauty.  "Give  me  a  cigarette,  Flos- 
sie. Thanks!  I  wonder  how  long  this  orgy  is  going 
to  last?"  He  looked  at  his  watch.  "Half-past 
two.  We  '11  be  lucky  if  we  get  in  another  couple  of 
drives." 

"Oh  well,  it's  a  ladies'  innings,"  said  Flossie. 
"They  're  all  coming  into  the  butts  after  lunch." 

Captain  de  Burgh  turned  to  Angela,  and  dropping 
his  voice  to  the  low,  persuasive  tone  which  he  gener- 
ally found  so  irresistible,  said,  "You  will  come  into 
my  butt  with  me,  won't  you?" 

"What  does  that  mean?"  she  answered.  "What 
am  I  expected  to  do?  I  've  never  been  out  on  a  day 
like  this  before,  you  know." 

Captain  de  Burgh  proceeded  to  explain,  but  An- 
gela was  either  not  listening  attentively  or  else  he  was 
not  making  his  subject  sufficiently  interesting,  for  in 
the  middle  of  one  of  his  most  careful  descriptions,  she 
exclaimed  suddenly: 

"Flossie,  do  go  and  save  that  poor  man.  Mrs. 
Devereux  has  got  hold  of  him."  She  flushed  up. 
"Horrid  woman!  why  is  she  here?" 

The  sleepy-eyed  woman  with  the  wicked  mouth, 
who  had  borne  off  her  host  the  night  before  with  such 
scant  ceremony,  was  sitting  a  little  distance  away,  and 
Jock  Mackenzie  was  sitting  next  to  her. 


34  Bawbee  Jock 

Captain  de  Burgh  followed  the  direction  of  Angela's 
gaze. 

"I  suppose  she  made  Monty  ask  her,"  he  said. 

"Why  did  n't  Dolly  say  she  wouldn't  have  her?'* 
answered  Angela  hotly. 

The  Beauty  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"No  good,"  he  said. 

Flossie  was  still  eating,  and  taking  no  share  in  the 
conversation.     Angela  appealed  to  him  again. 

"Flossie,  I  insist  upon  your  helping  that  poor 
thing.  She 's  trying  to  make  him  drink  cherry 
brandy,  and  he  *s  too  polite  to  say  he  does  n't  want 
to." 

The  Beauty  laughed  drily. 

"Leave  him  alone,  Flossie.  The  Devereux  is  an 
excellent  instructress  of  ingenuous  youth.  Bawbee 
Jock  might  learn  a  few  useful  lessons  from  her." 

But  Angela  looked  at  Flossie,  and  Flossie  rose  and, 
shaking  some  crumbs  from  his  shooting-coat,  made  a 
step  in  the  direction  of  the  group  opposite,  and  then 
paused. 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do?"  he  said.  "I  can't 
go  up  to  Bawbee  Jock  and  say,  '  Miss  Tempest  thinks 
it  is  n't  good  for  your  morals  to  drink  cherry  brandy 
with  a  lady  whose  chequered  past — ahem ! '  If  I  don't 
go  into  particulars,  he  won't  see  the  point!  He  's 
Scotch,  you  see." 

' '  B  ring  him  here, ' '  said  Angela  peremptorily.  *  *  TcU 
him — oh,  tell  him  anything!" 

Flossie  moved  away  and  she  turned  to  Captain  de 
Burgh. 

"I  wonder  if  you  could  find  my  coat  for  me?"  she 
said.     "It  was  put  into  the  lunch-cart,  I  think." 


I 


The  Communion  of  Two  35 

Beauty  stood  up. 

"  I  '11  fetch  it,"  he  said.  "  And  remember !  you  have 
promised  to  come  into  my  butt  with  me." 

Angela  laughed. 

"Indeed,  I  have  not  promised  to  do  anything  of  the 
kind.     I  never  make  rash  promises." 

Captain  de  Burgh  found  the  coat,  but  when  he  came 
back  Angela  was  not  where  he  had  left  her.  He 
looked  round.  At  a  short  distance  from  the  Itmcheon- 
tables  the  game  had  been  laid  out  on  the  heather. 
Round  it  several  gillies  and  loaders  were  loitering, 
waiting  for  the  party  to  move  on,  and  keeping  a  watch- 
ful eye  on  the  guns  and  cartridge-bags  which  were 
lying  ready  for  the  next  drive. 

Angela  was  standing  between  Jock  Mackenzie  and 
an  old  man  in  rough  grey  homespun.  The  old  man 
was  evidently  amusing  her,  for  Beauty  heard  her 
light  laugh  and  saw  that  her  face  was  sparkling  with 
animation. 

He  laid  the  coat  on  the  heather  and  sat  down  beside 
it.  He  was  offended,  and  he  intended  to  show  her 
that  he  was  offended.  He  struck  a  match  sulkily  and 
lit  a  fresh  cigarette. 

Angela  was  talking  eagerly  to  the  old  gillie.  The 
soft  air,  blowing  across  the  moor,  had  ruffled  her  hair 
and  brought  a  lovely  colour  to  her  cheeks.  Jock 
looked  down  at  her  with  shy,  proud  pleasure.  He  did 
not  quite  know  how  it  came  about  that  she  was  there, 
but  it  gratified  him  very  much ;  and  she  had  singled  out 
old  Donald  for  her  preference. 

"Do  make  him  go  on  talking,"  she  was  pleading. 
"  I  've  never  heard  Gaelic  spoken  before,  and  it  sounds 
so  funny!     As  though  he  were  scolding  dreadfully 


36  Bawbee  Jock 

hard.  Is  he  cross?  Is  he  angry  with  me  for 
laughing?" 

"Oh  no,  he  is  not  angry,"  said  Jock;  "he  's  only 
trying  to  explain  something,"  And  he  said  a  few 
words  to  the  old  man,  which  made  Angela  exclaim 
quickly: 

"Why,  you  can  talk  it  too!" 

Jock  laughed.  It  was  a  hearty,  bo3dsh  laugh,  which 
was  as  much  a  surprise  to  Angela  as  had  been  that 
sudden,  swift  smile  of  the  evening  before. 

" It 's  my  native  tongue,"  he  said.  "When  I  was  a 
Httle  chap — oh,  until  I  was  nearly  ten — I  could  hardly 
speak  English.  My  father  liked  us  to  talk  Gaelic." 
His  voice  softened.  "My  father  was  a  very  staunch 
Highlander.  Donald!"  he  said,  addressing  the  old 
man,  "this  lady  has  never  been  in  the  Highlands  be- 
fore, and  she  does  n't  understand  the  Gaelic.  You 
must  speak  to  her  in  your  best  EngHsh  and  welcome 
her  to  Glenmoira." 

Donald  dragged  off  his  Scotch  bonnet  with  nervous 
eagerness  and  gave  an  odd  bob  of  his  grey  head.  He 
peered  at  Angela  from  under  his  thick  brows.  His 
eyes  had  the  curious  inner  glow  in  their  depths  so 
characteristic  of  the  Celt;  as  though  he  were  looking 
beyond  the  now  to  the  unseen. 

"  It  will  be  a  goot  welcome  that  I  will  be  giving;  and 
it  is  proud  that  I  am  to  welcome  such  a  beautiful 
lady  to  the  glens,  whatever." 

When  he  spoke  in  English,  his  voice  had  a  soft,  sing- 
song plaint  in  its  tone  which  was  peculiarly  sweet. 

Angela  clapped  her  hands  like  a  delighted  child. 

"  What  a  pretty  speech ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  Donald ! 
Did  you  call  him  Donald?"     And  Jock  acquiesced 


The  Communion  of  Two  37 

silently.  "Thank  you,  Donald!"  she  cried,  and  she 
took  the  horny  old  hand  in  hers  and  shook  it  warmly. 
"I  never  had  such  a  pretty  speech  made  to  me  before 
— never!  I  think  your  glens  are  beautiful — quite 
beautiful." 

Her  quick,  English-speaking  voice  puzzled  the  old 
man.  He  looked  at  Jock  questioningly.  There  was 
a  kind  of  dog-like,  trusting  devotion  in  the  look.  Then 
his  eyes  went  back  to  Angela's  face  and  rested  there. 
The  wind  caught  his  grey  locks  and  blew  the  hair 
back  from  his  forehead,  and  he  raised  his  hand  with  a 
gesture  of  prophetic  solemnity. 

"It  will  be  to  the  glens  that  you  haf  come,  and  it 
will  be  in  the  glens  that  you  will  stay,  and  it  is  our 
chief,  Glenmoira  himself  whatever,  that  will  be  know- 
ing that  it  is  true." 

He  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  sky  and  then  looked  down, 
and  stood  motionless.   • 

Angela  moved  a  little  nearer  to  Jock,  who  was 
watching  Donald  curiously. 

"  What  does  he  mean?  "  she  asked  in  a  hushed  voice. 

Jock  roused  himself. 

"It 's  just  his  way  of  expressing  himself,"  he  said 
hurriedly.     "  It — ^it  was  part  of  the  welcome." 

"His  chief!  Glenmoira  himself!  What  did  he 
mean  by  that?"  persisted  Angela.  Then  a  light 
flashed  into  her  eyes.  "Are  you  Glenmoira?  Are 
you?  Yes,  I  know!  I  remember!  Of  course!  High- 
landers are  called  after  the  names  of  their  places, 
are  n't  they?" 

"Well,  it 's  a  kind  of  necessity,"  Jock  hastened  to 
explain.  "  There  are  so  many  of  us  of  the  same  name, 
that  one  has  to  make  some  kind  of  distinction." 


38  Bawbee  Jock 

"I  see,"  said  Angela;  and  she  looked  round:  at  the 
hills,  and  the  great  expanse  of  moor  stretching  to 
where  it  met  the  low  line  of  the  horizon.  "Is  all  this 
Glxinmoira?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  slowly;  and  she  did  not  ask 
any  more  questions.  There  was  something  in  his  voice 
which  told  her  that  it  hiu-t  him  to  speak  of  Glenmoira. 

The  luncheon  party  had  now  broken  up  and  was 
beginning  to  scatter  in  the  direction  of  the  line  of 
butts  on  the  slope  of  the  hill. 

"What  are  we  going  to  do  now?"  asked  Angela. 

"I  believe  we  are  to  shoot  from  the  same  line  of 
butts  as  we  did  before,"  said  Jock.  "The  beaters 
have  been  bringing  the  birds  back  whilst  we  were  at 
lunch." 

"What  a  lot  of  fussing  and  arranging  it  seems  to 
take,"  said  Angela,  glancing  at  a  group  in  front  of 
them,  in  which  Lady  Di  was  the  central  figure. 

A  gleam  of  humour,  swift  and  fleeting,  lit  up  Jock's 
face. 

"It  is  a  ladies*  drive,"  he  said. 

"You  mean  that  we  are  going  into  the  butts  with 
the  men?"  she  answered. 

"Yes."  He  seemed  to  hesitate,  and  then  added: 
"  I — I  suppose  you  've  made  yoiu*  choice?  I  mean — 
you  've  arranged  who  you  are  going  with?" 

"No,  I  have  not,"  answered  Angela,  without  a 
moment's  hesitation. 

"Will  you  come  with — me?" 

The  words  were  out  before  he  realised  the  magni- 
tude of  his  own  audacity. 

"May  I?"  she  answered.  "But  should  n't  I  be  in 
your  way?     I  know  nothing  about  it." 


The  Communion  of  Two  39 

"Oh  no,  you  would  not  be  in  the  way.  I  shall  feel 
very  much  honoured  if  you  will  come  into  my  butt 
with  me." 

Jock  bent  his  head  a  little,  and  spoke  with  a  simple 
old-fashioned  courtesy  which  sat  very  well  on  him. 
Then  he  turned  and  said  something  to  Donald,  who 
brought  him  his  gun  and  cartridge-bag. 

Donald  looked  at  Angela  and  muttered  something. 

"He  's  not  pleased  with  me,"  she  said. 

Jock  smiled. 

"Not  that.  But  he  thinks  I  can't  get  on  without 
him." 

"Why?" 

"He  's  been  loading  for  me,  you  see,  all  morning. 
If  you  have  two  guns  out,  you  can't  get  on  without 
a  loader.  The  birds  come  over,  at  such  a  pace  that 
you  have  to  be  very  quick  to  get  yoiir  double  shots  in, 
in  front  and  behind." 

"Then  I  shall  be  in  the  way,"  exclaimed  Angela. 
"You  want  him  much  more  than  you  want  me." 

"Oh  no!"  protested  Jock  qmckly.  "I  don't  want 
him.  I  'd  much  rather — I — "  He  broke  off.  "I  'm 
only  going  to  take  one  gun." 

"Can't  I  help?"  said  Angela,  still  uncertain.  "Do 
let  me  help.  I  love  to  learn  how  to  do  things — real 
things,  that  mean  something." 

Her  comradeship  was  very  sweet — dangerously 
sweet;  the  colour  deepened  under  Jock's  tan. 

"You  could  hand  me  my  cartridges,"  he  said — 
"that  helps  a  lot.  I  '11  give  you  the  bag  when  we  get 
into  the  butt  and  show  you  what  to  do." 

"I  '11  do  exactly  what  you  tell  me,"  she  answered 
eagerly.     She  drew   in  a  long  breath.     "It's  all  so 


40  Bawbee  Jock 

new  and  interesting  and  real.  I  think  I  'm  going  to 
love  the  Highlands  more  than  any  place  I  've  ever 
been  in  before." 

"I  'm  so  glad,"  he  said. 

The  big  party  had  now  formed  itself  into  some 
kind  of  order,  and  Angela  and  Jock  moved  slowly  on 
to  join  it.  As  they  passed  the  place  where  the  lunch- 
eon-tables had  been  laid  out,  they  came  upon  a 
straggling  group  of  laggards,  and  Angela  heard  Flossie 
in  dulcet  tones  inviting  Mrs.  Devereux  to  come  with 
him  into  his  butt. 

"Why  did  you  do  that?"  she  asked,  as  he  overtook 
her  a  few  seconds  later.  "You  know  you  can't  bear 
her!" 

"My  dear,"  he  answered,  glancing  cautiously  over 
his  shoulder,  "it  was  such  a  good  opportunity.  I 
have  to  ask  her  once  in  a  way,  as  a  penance  for  my 
reputation.  She  'd  say  such  catty  things  about  me, 
if  I  did  n't;  and  as  I  had  just  heard  her  accept  Monty's 
invitation  to  go  into  his  butt,  I  seized  the  opportunity 
of  a  rebuff.  Who  are  you  going  with?  Beauty  has 
marched  off  by  himself  with  a  suicidal  expression 
on  his  face,  and  he  's  boned  my  cigarette  case,  the 
beggar!" 

"I  've  been  invited  by — "  Angela  inclined  her 
head  ever  so  slightly.  Jock  had  walked  on  a  few  paces 
when  he  saw  that  her  attention  had  been  claimed. 

Flossie's  eyebrows  nearly  disappeared  into  the  little 
fluff  of  down  above  his  forehead,  which  he  called  hair. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Bawbee  Jock  has  asked 
you  into  his  butt?" 

"Yes,"  said  Angela  demurely. 

"Ye  gods!     'Pon  my  word,  Angela,  it's  a  quick 


The  Communion  of  Two  41 

thing!  I  shall  write  a  comic  tragedy  in  three  acts, 
and  call  it  The  Taming  of  the  Screw." 

Angela  stamped  her  foot  impatiently. 

"Be  qmet,  Flossie!"  she  exclaimed.  "He  isn't  a 
screw !  I  know  he  is  n't.  I  think  you  are  quite,  quite 
horrid." 

She  turned  away  indignantly.  Jock  heard  his 
name  called,  and  he  stopped  and  came  back  to  her 
side. 

"Why  did  you  desert  me?"  she  said,  with  a  petu- 
lant prog  of  her  stick  in  the  heather. 

"I  thought  you  wanted  to  talk  to — Lord  Francis," 
said  Jock.     "You  know  him  very  well,  don't  you?" 

Jock's  pleasure  at  being  recalled  was  obvious.  It 
somehow  appeased  Angela's  wrath. 

"Yes,  I  know  him  very  well,"  she  answered.  A 
smile  rippled  over  her  face,  and  her  petulant  mood 
vanished.  "  He  is  my  guardian — at  least,  well,  I  sup- 
pose I  am  my  own  guardian  now,  because  I  am 
twenty-one.  But  Flossie  will  always  go  on  taking 
care  of  me.  I  never  remember  the  time  when  he  did 
not.  He  is  a  kind  of  relation.  My  father  loved  him 
just  like  a  brother,  and  I  had  no  other  relations,  so  he 
left  me  to  Flossie.  I  am  very  relationless:  I  have  no 
one  but  Flossie." 

They  walked  on  for  a  few  minutes  in  silence,  and 
then  Angela  said  softly: 

"  Flossie  talks  great  nonsense,  you  know,  and  people 
think  that  he  is  just  a  frivolous  little  butterfly;  but 
he  is  not.  He  has  the  kindest,  tenderest  heart  in 
the  world.  He — "  She  did  not  finish  her  sentence 
and  her  gaze  went  on  ahead. 

Flossie  had  run  past  and  made  up  to  a  group  walk- 


42  Bawbee  Jock 

ing  on  in  front.  Dolly  Potter's  voice,  with  its 
plaintive  note  of  helplessness,  which  seemed  part  of 
herself,  was  borne  back  on  the  breeze. 

"What  a  lot  of  things  are — no  use,"  Angela  re- 
marked irrelevantly,  after  a  pause. 

She  did  not  expect  Jock  to  understand.  He  did, 
so  far  as  to  know  that  something  had  touched  the 
brightness  of  her  mood  with  a  wave  of  sadness.  He 
would  Uke  to  have  shown  her  that  he  knew,  but  words 
did  not  come  readily  to  him. 

Angela  changed  the  subject. 

"What  funny-looking  things!"  she  said  pointing  to 
the  butts,  to  which  they  had  now  drawn  near.  "  Do 
let  me  choose  which  one  we  go  into!  Have  I  said 
anything  stupid?"  she  added. 

"Oh  no!"  he  said.  "But  I'm  afraid  we've  no 
choice.  The  butts  are  numbered,  you  see.  You 
ballot  for  your  place  in  the  morning,  and  then  you  go 
down  two  places  each  drive,  so  you  never  get  the  same 
butt  twice.  It  makes  it  fairer.  Some  places  are  bet- 
ter than  others." 

Angela  nodded. 

"  I  see.  I  want  you  to  tell  me  all  about  it.  Now, 
which  is  our  butt?  for  it  seems  to  me  that  they  are 
all  being  snapped  up  and  we  shall  be  left  out.  I 
want  to  begin  at  once." 

"I  'm  afraid  we  shall  have  to  have  patience,"  said 
Jock.  "We  may  have  to  wait  for  a  bit  yet  until  the 
beaters  get  round." 

His  eyes  narrowed  and  took  that  look  of  con- 
centrated intensity  which  Angela  was  beginning  to 
understand.  They  seemed  to  take  in  everything — 
from  the  patch  of  heather  at  his  feet,  to  where  the  hills 


The  Communion  of  Two  43 

above  Glenmoira  cut  their  jagged  outline  against  the 
misty  blue  of  the  August  sky. 

"Perhaps  we  had  better  take  our  places,"  he  said. 
"You  have  n't  much  of  a  climb.  That  is  our  butt — 
there."  He  pointed  with  his  finger.  "It 's  the  best 
place  I  Ve  had  to-day." 

"Ah!  perhaps  I  've  brought  you  luck,"  said  Angela 
gaily.     "It  will  make  up  for  last  night." 

The  half-hour  of  waiting  did  not  seem  long  to  either 
of  them.  There  was  so  much  to  learn  on  Angela's 
part,  and  the  task  of  teaching  her  was  so  sweet. 
Perhaps  she  taught  Jock  as  much  as  he  taught  her: 
taught  him  that  it  was  quite  a  mistake  to  suppose 
that  heaven  always  dwelt  up  beyond  the  blue  of  the 
sky.  Heaven  came  down  to  earth  at  times,  and 
could  dwell  in  a  cramped  little  hole  with  a  turf  wall 
round  it.  A  shooting-butt  could  make  a  paradise  of 
its  own. 

Jock  showed  her  how  to  hold  his  cartridges,  with 
the  ends  towards  him,  so  that  he  could  slip  them 
easily  into  his  gun,  and  she  insisted  upon  having  the 
cartridge-bag  slung  over  her  shoulder,  although  he 
told  her  that  it  was  too  heavy. 

"But  I  will  have  it  so,"  she  declared.  "I  am  sure 
Donald  would  wear  it  over  his  shoulder,  and  I  am 
Donald.     And  you ! — you  are — Glenmoira  whatever ! ' ' 

She  mimicked  the  old  gillie's  soft  drawl,  and  Jock 
thought  he  had  never  seen  anything  so  pretty  as  her 
lips  when  she  said  the  word  "Glenmoira." 

"I  don't  think  you  ought  to  take  off  your  gloves," 
he  said.  "The  cartridges  may  make  your  fingers 
dirty." 

"Donald  would  not  wear  gloves,"  she  answered  in- 


44  Bawbee  Jock 

dignantly.  "And — 'muffled  cats  can't  hunt.*  Don't 
you  know  that  proverb?" 

When  the  cries  of  the  beaters  were  heard,  her  ex- 
citement grew  intense. 

"I  shall  drop  the  cartridges,"  she  half  whispered — 
"I  know  I  shall!  My  fingers  are  beginning  to  shake 
already." 

"Oh  no,  you  won't,"  he  said  reassuringly.  And 
when  the  birds  began  to  come  overhead,  with  a  great 
rush  of  strong  wings,  she  saw  a  sharp,  keen  glint  come 
into  his  eyes,  and  a  feeling  of  complete  confidence  in 
him  banished  her  sense  of  nervousness. 

He  took  up  his  position  easily:  he  never  missed  his 
chance,  bringing  down  his  bird  cleanly  and  neatly. 
When  the  gillies  came  to  pick  up  the  game,  theirs  was 
the  biggest  count. 

"Is  n't  it  splendid!"  said  Angela.  "I  am  so  glad. 
I  was  so  afraid  I  would  spoil  sport  for  you." 

"Spoil  it!  You  helped  more  than  half.  You 
were  so  quick.  You  're  the  best  loader  I  've  ever 
had!"  exclaimed  Jock  with  a  burst  of  enthusiasm 
which  was  very  unusual  to  him. 

The  colour  in  Angela's  cheeks  deepened.  She 
thanked  him  for  his  praise,  not  in  words,  but  with  her 
eyes. 

When  the  day's  work  was  over,  they  walked  home 
together  across  the  moor;  for  Angela  said  that  she  was 
not  tired,  and  refused  to  be  driven  back  with  the  rest 
of  the  shooting-party. 

"I  should  love  to  walk,"  she  said  to  Jock  frankly. 
"And  of  course  you  will  know  the  way,  and  we  can 
cut  off  the  corners." 

It  filled  Jock  with  a  tremulous  joy  to  think  that  she 


The  Communion  of  Two  45 

should  wish  to  stay  with  him,  that  she  should  ask  him 
to  be  her  guide.  And  yet  it  seemed  natural  and  sim- 
ple that  they  should  be  together.  Angela  was  like  a 
child  who  had  found  a  playmate  that  she  liked  to  play 
with ;  and  as  they  breasted  the  long  sweeping  slopes 
of  heather,  or  scrambled  down  some  rocky  bank,  or 
crossed  and  recrossed  the  brawling  stream,  there  was 
something  at  every  turn  of  the  way  which  called  for 
interest. 

They  found  a  wounded  grouse,  which  Jock  merci- 
fully killed ;  and  the  little  incident  gave  rise  to  his  tell- 
ing her  things  about  birds  and  their  habits  which  she 
had  never  given  a  thought  to  before.  Her  quick, 
eager  sympathy  led  him  on  from  one  subject  to  an- 
other, until  he  lost  his  shyness  in  her  presence  and 
showed  her  glimpses  of  his  real  self — the  self  which  he 
was  only  dimly  conscious  of  possessing. 

She  marvelled  as  she  listened,  for  she  was  seeing 
through  the  eyes  of  one  who  had  lived  so  close  to 
Nature  that  her  mantle  seemed  to  have  fallen  upon 
him.  A  clean,  pure  wholesomeness,  a  simplicity  of 
strength,  marked  this  man  out  as  different  from  any 
man  she  had  ever  met  before. 

When  they  came  to  the  low  turf- wall  which  bounded 
the  edge  of  the  moor  above  the  house,  Jock  gave  her 
his  hand  to  help  her  over.  From  the  top  she  looked 
down  at  him  and  shook  her  head  and  laughed. 

"I  'm  going  to  sit  here  for  a  little  while  and  rest," 
she  said.  She  settled  herself  comfortably  on  a  dry 
sod  and  planted  her  heels  firmly  into  the  soft  soil. 
"I  don't  feel  ready  to  go  in  yet,"  she  said  confiden- 
tially. "They  will  all  be  at  tea,  and  there  will  be  such 
a  chattering  and  smell  of  hot  things:  cigarettes,  and 


46  Bawbee  Jock 

whiskeys-and-sodas — like  yesterday,  when  I  arrived. 
Here  it  is  so  heavenly,  so  sweet  and  fresh — and  wild ! 
What  is  it  that  smells  so  sweet?  Not  the  heather — 
something  different:  a  wild,  sweet  smell." 

Jock  had  taken  the  cartridges  out  of  his  gun  and 
leant  it  against  the  wall.  He  went  back  a  few  steps, 
and  picking  some  sprigs  of  green  from  a  low  shrubby 
plant,  brought  them  to  her. 

"Yes,  that  *s  it,"  she  said.  "It  has  such  a  spicy 
smell." 

"It 's  the  bog-m3Ttle,"  he  said.  "Roid  we  call  it 
in  Gaelic." 

She  tried  to  say  the  word  after  him,  rolling  out  the 
r  with  exaggerated  broadness. 

"I  should  very  soon  learn  to  speak  Gaelic, 
shouldn't  I?"  she  said.  "What  a  nice  day  it  has 
been!  Everything  has  been  nice.  I  don't  think  I 
ever  learnt  so  many  interesting  things  in  one  day 
before." 

He  was  standing  close  beside  her,  resting  his  arms 
on  the  top  of  the  turf- wall;  the  western  sunlight  was 
shining  full  on  his  face. 

"I  am  glad  that  you  have  had  a  good  day,"  he  said. 
"And — that  you  like  Glenmoira." 

"I  love  it,"  she  answered. 

She  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  she 
broke  out  impetuously: 

"How  can  you  bear  to  let  other  people  have  it?  I 
covld  n't  if  it  was  mine — I  simply  could  n't !  To  see 
a — a  Cockney  stockbroker  ordering  about  your  peo- 
ple, and —  Oh,  it 's  hateftd !  How  can  you  stand 
it?     I  could  n't." 

"It  means  money,"  he  said  slowly.     He  was  star- 


The  Communion  of  Two  47 

ing  straight  out  in  front  of  him  and  did  not  tvirn  his 
head. 

She  had  forgotten  the  conversation  of  the  day  be- 
fore, and  Captain  de  Burgh's  slighting  remarks  about 
his  brother-in-law's  landlord;  now  the  remembrance 
of  what  he  had  said  rushed  back  to  her  with  a  signifi- 
cance which  roused  her  to  sudden  anger  against  the 
man  beside  her.  It  was  true,  then!  He  was  dis- 
loyal to  his  place  and  his  people.  And  it  was  for  the 
sake  of  money — for  the  mere  love  of  it. 

"I  can't  think  how  you  can  let  another  man  take  the 
position  you  ought  to  take,"  she  exclaimed,  flushing 
hotly. 

Jock  kept  his  head  still  averted. 

"  He  gets  what  he  wants,  and — I  get  what  I  want," 
he  said. 

"Money,"  said  Angela  scornfully. 

"Money,"  he  repeated. 

The  scorn  in  her  voice  hurt  him.  He  longed  for  just 
one  word  of  understanding,  one  glance  of  sympathy. 
He  picked  off  a  bit  of  dry  turf  from  the  wall  and 
crumbled  it  down  through  his  fingers. 

"  Of  course  I  know  what  you  think,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice.  "You  think  that  I  am  what  they  say — a 
screw." 

"I  don't  know  what  I  think,"  she  retorted.  She 
felt  angry  with  herself  for  having  led  the  conversation 
into  its  present  vein.  All  the  little  chaffing  trifles 
which  she  had  laughed  over  with  Flossie  and  Captain 
de  Burgh  came  back  to  irritate  and  annoy  her. 

Jock  forced  himself  to  look  at  her  at  last,  and  his 
eyes  met  hers  steadily. 

"I  must  get  money  somehow.     There  's  a  reason," 


48  Bawbee  Jock 

he  said  slowly.  "I  don't  want  you  to  misunder- 
stand— it  hurts." 

He  saw  the  scorn  die  out  of  her  face.  She  flushed, 
and  bending  down,  for  she  was  above  him,  she  said 
gently: 

"I  am  so  glad  you  told  me.  I  won't  misunder- 
stand now.     It — ^it  is  very  nice  of  you  to  trust  me." 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE   ROMANCE   OF   OLD  CLOTHES 

AS  Angela  had  predicted,  there  was  a  great  deal  of 
noise  and  chattering  going  on  roimd  the  tea- 
table  in  the  hall  as  they  entered — so  much  so  that  the 
tardy  appearance  of  the  late-comers  caused  no  ques- 
tion, and  they  passed  in  almost  unnoticed.  Captain 
de  Burgh  was  one  of  the  few  who  did  notice.  He  felt 
that  Angela  had  treated  him  very  badly  and  that  he 
had  a  just  cause  for  grievance.  All  the  same,  he 
could  not  keep  away  from  her. 

Angela  did  not  feel  very  penitent,  but  her  manner 
was  gracious  to  him  when  he  followed  her  up  the  long 
room  to  the  bow-window  where  she  had  sat  the  pre- 
vious afternoon. 

"I  hope  you  have  come  to  ask  me  if  I  want  some 
tea,"  she  said.     "I  do!     Please  may  I  have  it  here?" 

She  had  dismissed  Jock,  on  entering,  with  a  smile, 
which  bewildered  him  a  good  deal  and  left  him  won- 
dering what  it  meant. 

"I  hope  you  had  a  pleasant  walk  home,"  said  the 
Beauty.  He  sat  down  at  the  table  which  he  had 
drawn  in  beside  her  chair,  and  placed  his  cup  on  it, 
close  to  hers. 

"Very,  and  I  've  learnt  such  a  lot  of  interesting 
4  49 


50  Bawbee  Jock 

things — about  grouse,  and — oh!  all  kinds  of  other 
things." 

Captain  de  Burgh  looked  at  the  bunch  of  bog- 
myrtle  which  was  tucked  into  the  buckle  of  her 
waistband. 

"I  see  you've  got  some  of  that  stuff."  He 
dropped  his  voice.  "Won't  you  give  me  a  bit?  I 
think  you  might  be  a  little  kind.  You  treated  me 
very  badly  in  breaking  yowc  promise  to  come  into  my 
butt ;  and  I  took  care  of  your  coat  for  you.  I  brought 
it  back." 

"  Thank  you  so  much;  but  I  did  not  break  a  promise, 
because  I  never  made  one." 

She  took  no  notice  of  his  remark  about  the  bog- 
myrtle  and  changed  the  conversation  by  drawing 
his  attention  to  a  portrait  hanging  on  the  wall 
opposite. 

"What  a  lovely  picture!"  she  said.  "Isn't  she  a 
beauty?  Her  dress  is  so  charming.  Look  how  the 
light  falls  on  the  white  satin  of  her  train.  It 's  so 
fimny  the  way  fashions  come  round  again.  Do  you 
see  the  blue  ribbon  twisted  in  and  out  of  her  hair?  I 
wore  a  ribbon  in  my  hair  like  that  last  night." 

"Yes,  she  is  a  beauty,"  said  Captain  de  Burgh, 
turning  his  head  lazily.  "One  of  Bawbee  Jock's 
great-great-grandmothers,  I  suppose.  Pity  she  has 
not  passed  her  good  looks  on  to  him." 

Angela  took  no  notice  of  his  speech.  She  was 
studying  the  portrait  attentively. 

"It  would  make  a  lovely  subject  for  a  tableau," 
she  remarked  presently.  An  idea  struck  her.  "Why 
should  we  not  get  up  tableaux  this  evening?  I  heard 
some  one  saying  that  the  people  who  came  over  to 


The  Romance  of  Old  Clothes        51 

shoot  were  stopping  to  dine.  Dolly  will  want  some 
amusement  for  them." 

"You  won't  find  men  wanting  to  dress  up  for 
tableaux  after  a  day's  grouse-driving,"  said  Beauty. 

"But  I  want  to  dress  up  myself,"  retorted  Angela. 
"Those  who  don't  want  to,  can  look  on.  Flossie!" 
She  raised  her  voice.  "Come  here!  We  are  in- 
spired with  a  brilliant  idea.  Come  and  help  us  to 
work  it  out." 

Flossie  sank  down  into  the  chair  she  pushed  towards 
him. 

"Thank  you,  my  dear,  for  rescuing  me,"  he  said. 
"I  've  been  passing  through  a  most  painful  experi- 
ence. Lady  Di  's  learning  to  knit  a  stocking.  It 's 
got  a  green  leg  with  a  tartan  top  to  it.  She  's  been 
making  me  read  out  the  directions.  'Cast  on  six 
stitches,  knit  them  all  together.  Drop  seven.  Keep 
on  dropping  seven.  Get  up  from  your  chair  and  turn 
round  three  times  and  sit  down  again.  Slip  five  and 
throw  up  six.  If  the  pattern  does  n't  come  out  right, 
keep  on  throwing  up.'     Ugh!     I  feel  so  sick." 

Angela  laughed  and  glanced  across  the  room. 

"Lady  Di  always  likes  to  learn  the  industries  of  the 
country,"  she  said.  "  I  wonder  what  poor  man  she  '11 
give  the  stocking  to." 

Her  glance  went  from  Lady  Di  and  her  knitting  to 
a  small  group  who  were  sitting  beyond — Mrs.  Dev- 
ereux  and  her  host  and  another  man.  Mrs.  Devereux 
was  eating  grapes  and  trying  to  light  her  cigarette 
from  a  half -smoked  one  which  Mr.  Potter  was  holding 
out  to  her.  There  was  a  fatuous  smile  on  Monty 
Potter's  coarse  red  face. 

Angela's  chin  tilted  scornfully. 


52  Bawbee  Jock 

"Lady  Di's  eccentricities  are  funny  and  harmless. 
Whatever  she  does,  you  would  never  mistake  her  for 
anything  but  a  lady,"  she  said. 

"  'The  daughter  of  a  thousand  earis,'  "  quoted 
Beauty. 

"Flossie,  Usten  to  my  brilliant  idea,"  continued 
Angela,  and  she  proceeded  to  propound  her  brilliant 
idea. 

"Tableaux!  My  dear,  they're  so  exhausting  for 
the  stage-manager,  and  I  suppose  you  'd  expect  me  to 
be  that!    And  where  are  the  clothes  to  come  from?" 

"I  should  love  to  wear  a  dress  like  that!"  said 
Angela,  with  her  eyes  on  the  picture.  "And  the  way 
her  hair  is  done  is  so  pretty.  Is  n't  the  blue  rib- 
bon fascinating,  Flossie?  Antoinette  could  copy  it 
exactly." 

Jock  was  standing  near,  talking  to  a  fine-looking  old 
man  in  a  kilt,  who  was  one  of  the  party  that  had  come 
over  for  the  grouse-drive  that  day.  Flossie  rose  from 
his  chair  and,  without  saying  what  he  was  going  to  do, 
went  up  to  Jock,  and  a  few  seconds  later  was  seen 
bringing  him  back  with  him. 

He  poHtely  offered  Jock  a  chair  and  re-seated 
himself. 

"We  wish  to  consult  you  on  a  matter  of  import- 
ance," he  said.  "Miss  Tempest  wants  to  get  up 
tableaux,  and  she  would  like  to  know" — Flossie  bowed 
towards  the  portrait  on  the  wall — "how  she  can 
represent  herself  in  imitation  of  that  extremely  beauti- 
ful lady,  who,  I  conclude,  is  an  ancestress  of  yours." 

"Flossie!"  exposttilated  Angela. 

"Well,  my  dear,  is  n't  that  what  you  wish  to  do?" 

Flossie  again  addressed  Jock, 


The  Romance  of  Old  Clothes       53 

"  It  would  be  well  to  let  her  have  her  way.  She  is 
dangerous  when  she  's  thwarted.  I  call  her  request 
rather  swagger,  you  know.  She  fancies  she  's  like 
the  picture." 

Jock  looked  at  Angela,  and  then  at  the  portrait, 
and  thought  of  the  blue  ribbon  she  had  worn  in  her 
hair  the  night  before. 

"  I  think  it  is  like  you,"  he  said  shyly.  "  Would  you 
care  to  put  on  the  dress,  and — and  see — for  yourself?  " 

"How  could  I?"  exclaimed  Angela,  flushing  vividly. 

"I  think  I  could  find  the  dress,"  said  Jock. 
"There  's  a  locked-up  room  at  the  top  of  the  house. 
I  'm  almost  sure  it 's  in  there.  If  you  like,  I  '11  get 
the  key  and  look."  He  hesitated.  "Mrs.  Potter 
would  n't  mind,  would  she?  She  knows  that  I  have 
the  key." 

"Dolly!  Oh  no,  Dolly  would  n't  mind,"  answered 
Angela  quickly.  "But  you!  May  I  really  see  the 
dress?  I  should  love  to,  even  if  I  did  not  wear  it. 
Perhaps  you  would  not  like  to  see  a  stranger  dressed 
up  in  your  great — how  many  greats  is  she? — grand- 
mother's clothes."  _  ^__ 

"I  would  like  to  see  you  wearing  the  dress,"  said 
Jock  simply,  and  with  obvious  sincerity.  He  looked 
at  Flossie.  "If  you  want  to  get  up  tableaux,  there 
are  a  lot  of  funny  old-fashioned  things  up  there,  and 
you  are  quite  welcome  to  use  them,  if  you  like.  I 
don't  know  much  about  them,"  he  added.  "  Perhaps 
the  moths  have  made  away  with  them." 

Angela  was  all  eagerness  and  expectancy. 

"  If  you  really  don't  mind  letting  us  have  the  things 
to  play  with,"  she  said  persuasively.  "When  may 
we  go  and  see  them?  " 


54  Bawbee  Jock 

"I  will  get  the  key  now,"  said  Jock,  rising. 

"Flossie,  we  won't  tell  about  the  tableaux,"  said 
Angela,  as  she  watched  Jock  leave  the  hall.  "I 
mean,  we  need  only  tell  the  ones  we  want  to  act. 
You  go  round  and  pick  your  company;  then  we  can 
slip  out  and  go  and  choose  the  clothes  quietly." 

' '  Quietly ! ' '  echoed  Flossie.  ' '  They  '11  all  be  scram- 
bling for  the  best  bits  like  Jews  at  an  auction.  Who 
shall  we  have?"  He  lit  a  cigarette  and  took  stock  of 
the  room.  "You  and  I  and  Beauty,  to  begin  with. 
Then,  let  me  see — not  DoUy;  we  'U  get  up  our  enter- 
tainment as  a  surprise  for  her.  Lady  Di.  No!  I 
can't  undertake  to  place  her,  and  she  's  so  interfering : 
she  must  knit,  and  look  on.  Those  two  Fuzzy- 
Buzzy  girls,  and  old  Leach.  We  might  put  them  on  as 
twin  Cupids  and  a  Satyr!  Mrs.  Devereux."  He 
glanced  at  the  grape-dish.     "Good  for  a  Bacchante." 

Angela  frowned.  Her  lips  tightened — an  ominous 
sign  of  rebeUion. 

"  If  she  comes,  I  won't  play,"  she  said. 

"All  right,"  said  Flossie  shortly.  He  rose.  "I  '11 
pick  out  the  ones  we  want  and  get  them  smuggled 
through  the  hall,  and  we  '11  waylay  Bawbee  Jock  as  he 
comes  back." 

Jock  found  the  key  that  he  wanted  hanging  in  a 
cupboard  in  the  smoking-room.  As  the  Potters  only 
occupied  Glenmoira  for  a  few  weeks  at  the  beginning 
of  the  shooting-season,  he  frequently  had  reason  to 
go  into  the  house,  and  knew  where  to  find  what  he 
reqtiired. 

The  fine-looking  old  Highlander,  whom  he  had  been 
talking  to  in  the  hall  when  Flossie  had  interrupted 
him,  was  sitting  by  the  fire  in  the  smoking-room.     He 


I 


The  Romance  of  Old  Clothes       55 

was  the  only  occupant  of  the  room,  and  had  collected 
the  day's  newspapers  round  him  and  was  filling  his 
pipe.     He  watched  Jock  to  see  what  he  was  doing. 

"Found  what  you  wanted,  my  boy?"  he  said,  as 
Jock  locked  the  cupboard  door  and  came  over  to  the 
fireplace. 

Jock  held  up  the  key. 

"Yes,  I  wanted  this." 

Colonel  Grant  put  on  his  spectacles  and  looked  over 
the  top  of  them. 

"Who's  the  girl?"  he  asked,  and  there  was  a 
twinkle  in  the  kindly  old  eyes. 

"What  girl?"  answered  Jock,  reddening. 

The  old  soldier  flicked  his  newspaper  across  Jock's 
legs. 

"What  girl?  There's  only  one  girl!  You  know 
that  as  well  as  I  do."  And  Jock  went  out  of  the  room 
with  his  cheeks  tingling. 

In  the  corridor  outside  he  found  a  footman  laying 
the  contents  of  the  post-bag,  which  arrived  late  in  the 
afternoon  at  Glenmoira,  on  a  long  table  by  the  win- 
dow. His  eye  caught  his  own  name  on  an  envelope, 
and  he  took  up  the  letter.  It  was  a  letter  which  had 
been  redirected  to  him  from  his  home  address,  and 
as  he  recognised  the  handwriting  his  face  clouded 
over. 

At  that  moment  the  door  into  the  hall  opened,  and 
Angela  and  Flossie  and  a  little  crowd  of  followers 
flocked  out  into  the  corridor.  He  crushed  the  letter 
into  his  pocket  and  came  forward  to  meet  them. 

"Well,"  said  Angela,  "have  you  foimd  the  key?" 

"Yes,"  he  said;  "here  it  is!" 

Up  the  narrow  stone  staircase  they  trooped,  one 


56  Bawbee  Jock 

by  one.  Up — up,  and  still  up.  The  house  was  an 
old,  many-storied  building,  with  little  turrety  towers 
and  gables,  and  the  labyrinth  of  passages  to  be  tra- 
versed seemed  endless. 

"Here  we  are  at  last;  I  'm  afraid  it 's  been  rather  a 
climb,"  said  Jock  apologetically,  as  he  stopped  before 
a  low  door  and  fitted  the  key  into  the  lock. 

The  door  opened  inwards  with  a  stiff  grating  sound, 
and  he  looked  back  at  Angela  over  his  shoulder. 

"Take  care  of  the  cobwebs,"  he  said.  "The  place 
is  very  dusty.  I  hope  you  won't  mind  it  being  in  such 
a  mess." 

Angela  laughed. 

"We  want  dust  and  cobwebs;  that 's  part  of  the 
romance  of  old  clothes." 

She  peeped  round  his  arm,  and  was  the  first  to  enter 
through  the  narrow  doorway ;  but  the  rest  of  the  party 
foUowed  quickly  on  her  heels,  pushing  and  jostling 
each  other. 

For  the  next  half -hour  wild  pandemoniimi  reigned 
in  that  dusty,  musty-fusty,  mouse-smelling  old  attic. 
The  treasures  contained  in  its  cupboards  and  boxes 
would  have  driven  a  collector  of  antique  wardrobes 
wild  with  envy. 

"Don't  you  hate  to  see  them  tearing  at  the  things 
like  a  pack  of  hungry  hounds?"  said  Angela  indig- 
nantly to  the  owner  of  all  this  wealth. 

She  was  not  taking  part  in  the  scramble,  and  neither 
was  Jock,  They  were  sitting  together  on  a  little  old 
brown  box  at  the  end  of  the  room  and  looking  on. 

Jock  shook  his  head. 

"I  don't  mind,"  he  said.  "Why  should  they  not 
get  some  fun  put  of  them?    They  're  doing  no  good 


I 


The  Romance  of  Old  Clothes       57 

lying  here."  He  touched  the  brown  box  they  were 
sitting  on.  "I  woiild  not  have  allowed  them  to  piill 
this  about.  This — is  yours."  His  voice  lingered  on 
the  last  words;  and  he  added  in  a  lower  key,  "As  long 
as  we  sit  on  it  together,  like  this,  they  won't  see  it, 
will  they?" 

A  dimple  showed  at  the  comer  of  Angela's  mouth. 
She  had  been  curiously  touched  by  his  treatment  of 
that  Uttle  old  brown  box.  He  had  spirited  it  away 
from  the  others  with  a  secretive  cunning  for  which 
she  would  hardly  have  given  him  credit ;  and  deposit- 
ing it  in  a  dark  comer,  had  asked  her  if  she  would  sit 
on  it,  saying  in  a  whisper,  which  gave  the  action  a 
delightful  feeling  of  conspiracy: 

"  The  dress  you  want  is  in  here.  Do  you  mind  very 
much  not  opening  the  box  just  now?  I — I  've  al- 
ways had  a  kind  of  feeling  about  that  portrait,  since 
I  was  quite  a  little  chap.  I  used  to  stand  in  front  of 
it,  and  look  at  it,  and  wonder  if  I  wished  hard  enough 
whether  she  would  step  out  of  her  frame  and  come 
down." 

"What  a  pretty  idea!"  said  Angela,  and  her  eyes 
shone  softly.  "No,  I  won't  say  anything  about  the 
box.  They  would  all  want  to  know  what  was  inside, 
and  you  woiild  not  like  to  see  the  things  you  loved 
piilled  about,  would  you?" 

"I  '11  carry  it  downstairs  for  you,  and  give  it  to  one 
of  the  servants  to  put  in  your  room,  and  then  you  can 
do  what  you  like  with  it,"  answered  Jock. 

"What  a  rash  thing  to  say!"  laughed  Angela.  "I 
might  run  away  with  it!" 

"You  may  do  just  what  you  like  with  it,"  he  re- 
peated; and  she  saw  a  look  come  into  his  eyes  before 


58  Bawbee  Jock 

which  her  own  fell,  and  neither  of  them  spoke  for  a 
few  minutes. 

Little  screams  and  gtirgles  and  gasps,  broken  by 
shouts  of  laughter  from  the  men  at  the  other  end  of 
the  room,  made  them  both  look  up. 

"What  are  they  doing?"  said  Angela.  "Flossie  is 
trying  to  put  something  on  over  his  head,  and  Captain 
de  Burgh  is  trying  to  pull  it  off.  It 's  a  regular  tug- 
of-war." 

To  her  surprise  she  saw  Jock  double  himself  up  as 
though  suddenly  seized  with  a  fit  of  internal  agony. 
The  next  minute  he  was  rocking  himself  backwards 
and  forwards  in  a  paroxysm  of  convulsive  laughter. 
She  had  never  seen  any  one  in  such  a  state  of  painful 
mirth  before. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked  anxiously.  "You  will 
make  yourself  iU.    I  'm  stu-e  it  hints." 

"Oh!  don't  you  see?"  gasped  Jock  hysterically; 
the  tears  were  running  down  his  cheeks.  "  He  's  got 
hold  of  a  kilt,  and  he  's  trjdng  to  put  it  on  upside- 
down.  I  did  n't  think  such  a  thing  was  possible. 
Oh — !"  He  was  seized  with  a  fresh  paroxysm  of 
agony. 

"  It 's  all  right,"  said  Angela.  "Look !  it  has  turned 
inside-out  again.  Oh  dear!  what  is  he  going  to  do 
now?  He  's  quite  mad.  He  is  taken  like  that 
sometimes." 

With  wonderful  agiHty,  considering  his  figure, 
Flossie  had  sprung  on  to  the  top  of  an  old  wooden 
table  which  stood  near,  and  was  executing  a  flourish 
of  pas  seuls  and  pirouettes  which  would  have  won  him 
a  round  of  encores  on  the  boards  of  a  variety  theatre. 

"Hands    off! — hands    off!    Don't    come    tiddly- 


The  Romance  of  Old  Clothes       59 

winkin'  round  me,"  he  cried,  as  the  two  fluffy-headed 
sisters,  whom  he  called  the  Fuzzy-Buzzy  girls,  pressed 
forward.  "  I  'm  the  Tully-gorum  on  his  native 
heath!"  and  he  snapped  his  fingers  in  the  air. 
"Hihuroosh!  Macgilly-cuddy-reeks,  Ballyhooly!"  he 
yelled.  And  spinning  round  on  the  tips  of  his  shoot- 
ing-boots with  a  velocity  which  sent  his  kilt  fanning 
out  round  him  like  a  huge  cheese-cake,  he  jumped 
from  the  table,  blowing  kisses  to  the  four  comers  of 
the  room. 

He  landed  on  the  bare  boards,  and  sat  rubbing  the 
seat  of  his  knickerbockers  ruefully. 

"Beastly  hot  things,  kilts!  And  it 's  the  devil  of  a 
hard  floor,"  he  remarked. 

"  Quite,  quite  mad,"  murmured  Angela,  down  whose 
cheeks  the  tears  were  also  running. 

"He  did  it  very  well,"  said  Jock.  "I  couldn't 
have  done  a  thing  like  that  to  save  my  life." 

Angela  looked  at  him. 

"Why  don't  you  wear  a  kilt?"  she  said.  "You  're 
a  Highlander."  She  laughed,  and  mimicked  old  Don- 
ald's sing-song  drawl.  "Aren't  you — Glenmoira 
himself  whatever?" 

Jock  flushed  a  little. 

"  I  always  do  wear  the  kilt,"  he  answered. 

"What  a  story!  You  are  dressed  just  like  any  of 
the  other  men.     You  have  not  got  one  on  now." 

"No."  He  hesitated.  "I  did  not  come  straight 
from  home  here.     I  had  been  south — on  business." 

Angela  glanced  across  the  room  at  Flossie  and  the 
group  who  had  gathered  round  him. 

"Was  it  really  that?  or  was  it  because,  as  we  were  all 
Sassenachs,  you  thought  it  was  not  worth  while?"' 


6o  Bawbee  Jock 

"  Worth  while !  Oh !  I  never  thought  of  that.  I  'm 
much  more  at  home  in  my  kilt  than  I  am  in  anything 
else." 

"Then  do  wear  it.  Wear  it  to-night,  at  dinner. 
Please  do!"  Angela's  voice  sounded  very  pretty  and 
persuasive,  and  she  continued  quickly:  "You  will 
not  be  peculiar,  because  that  splendid-looking  old 
man  that  you  were  talking  to  in  the  hall  wears  a  kilt." 

"Colonel  Grant,"  said  Jock.  "He  was  a  friend  of 
my  father's,"  he  added,  and  the  doubtful  look  on  his 
face  cleared  as  though  he  saw  his  way  out  of  a  diffi- 
culty. "I  have  not  got  my  own  kilt  with  me,"  he 
said.  "But — ^if  you  really  wish  it,  there  's  a  dress  kilt 
of  my  father's,  which  I  have  worn  before,  in  one  of 
those  boxes.  I  could  wear  that.  Do  you  really  wish 
it?" 

"Of  course  I  do,"  she  answered.  "I  wish  it — very 
much  indeed." 


CHAPTER  V 

IN  THE  ANCESTRAL  HALL 

THE  tableaux  ran  the  course  of  most  such  amateur 
performances,  affording  more  amusement  to  the 
actors  than  to  the  audience.  There  were  the  inevitable 
long  waits  between  the  scenes,  and  the  sticking  fast  of 
the  curtain  at  the  crucial  moment;  but  as  only  an 
hoiu"'s  time  had  been  given  to  the  stage-manager  to 
organise  his  company,  it  was  not  to  be  marvelled  at 
that  there  were  difficulties. 

"Very  badly  managed,"  remarked  Lady  Di,  who 
had  sat  in  the  front  row  with  her  tartan  stocking,  and 
made  audibly  uncomplimentary  remarks  throughout 
the  entertainment.  "If  I  hadn't  had  my  knitting, 
I  should  have  been  bored  to  death.  Were  you  stage- 
managing,  Flossie?  I  thought  so!  You  know  as 
much  about  stage-managing  as  my  grandmother's 
cat." 

"The  pertness  of  the  old  thing!"  exclaimed  Flossie 
to  Angela  afterwards.  "I'll  be  shot  if  she'll  see 
sixty  again,  and  she  snapped  at  me  like  a  saucy  minx 
in  curl-papers  and  a  pinafore." 

"She  was  offended  because  you  did  not  ask  her  to 
play,"  said  Angela. 

"What  could  I  have  done  with  her?"  retorted  Flos- 
sie.    "A  complexion  like  brown  paper  and  a  nose  like 

6x 


62  Bawbee  Jock 

a  trumpet !  And  she  would  n't  have  said  '  Thank  you  * 
for  a  comic  part." 

Jock  took  no  share  in  the  tableaux.  He  sat  as  far 
back  as  he  coxild,  in  the  shadow  of  a  curtain,  and 
watched  for  one  picture  alone.  He  had  to  wait  a 
long  time;  but  it  came  at  last,  very  near  the  end, 
and  he  did  not^grudge  the  waiting.  The  dream  of  his 
childhood  had  come  true;  the  painted  canvas  had 
come  to  life.  He  had  never  seen  anything  so  lovely 
and  so  altogether  desirable  and  perfect. 

He  sat  with  downcast  eyes  after  the  curtain  had 
fallen  for  the  last  time,  for  the  tableau  was  beautiful 
and  was  recalled  again  and  again.  He  was  trying  to 
bring  it  all  back :  to  see  her  through  his  closed  eyelids. 
He  felt  a  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and,  looking  up,  saw 
his  old  friend  Colonel  Grant  standing  beside  him. 

"I  'd  have  liked  your  father  to  have  seen  that, 
Jock,  my  boy.  I  think  he  would  have  thought  she 
was  in  her  right  place,  eh?"  and  the  old  soldier  smiled. 

Jock  did  not  answer.  He  could  not  quite  trust 
himself  to  speak.  The  hand  rested  on  his  shoulder  for 
a  moment,  and  there  was  a  suspicion  of  moisture  in 
the  colonel's  eyes  as  he  passed  on. 

"Poor  laddie!"  he  murmured  to  himself,  "he's 
taking  it  badly.  She 's  as  pretty  as  a  summer's 
morning  and  Highland  blood  's  hot." 


"And  you  really  were  pleased?  and  you  think  that 
I  looked  like  the  picture?  It  was  very  good  of  you 
to  lend  me  the  dress." 

They  were  standing  in  the  hall  together,  Jock  and 
Angela;  and  the  candlesticks  were  being  handed 
round.    Angela  still  wore  the  dress  she  had  acted  in. 


In  the  Ancestral  Hall  63 

She  knew  that  she  looked  lovely  in  it,  and  she  wished 
to  look  lovely. 

"  And  my  hair?  "  She  put  up  her  hand  and  touched 
a  little  curl  above  her  forehead:  "I  would  not  let — 
It  took  ages  to  do.  It  looks  as  if  it  might  be  easy,  but 
it  is  n't.  And  do  you  know,  I  found  a  bit  of  blue 
ribbon  exactly  the  same  colour  as  the  ribbon  in  the 
picture.     Do  you  see?" 

"You  wore  it  last  night,"  said  Jock. 

"Did  I?"  she  asked  innocently.  But  she  was  glad 
that  he  had  remembered.  "And  you!  You  look 
splendid!"  Her  eyes  sparkled.  "Do  you  know,  I 
hardly  recognised  you  when  I  saw  you  first.  Is  that 
a  very  rude  thing  to  say?" 

She  did  not  tell  him  that  from  a  bend  in  the  stair- 
case, as  she  was  coming  down-stairs,  she  had  seen  him, 
herself  unseen.  Could  this  radiant  figure  be  the  shy, 
diffident  young  man  of  the  evening  before?  she  had 
asked  herself.  And  she  had  watched  him  pass  up  the 
long,  stone- vaulted  corridor,  and  she  had  drawn  back 
and  the  colour  had  risen  to  her  cheeks. 

Many  a  time  had  the  old  chief  of  Glenmoira  passed 
up  that  same  corridor,  in  that  same  dress;  and  that 
night  his  son  looked  no  unworthy  successor  to  the  old 
name  and  the  old  chieftainship.  He  walked  with  easy 
grace,  carrying  himself  with  an  innate  pride  of  bear- 
ing, the  heavy  pleats  of  his  kilt  swinging  lightly  in 
time  to  his  step.  And  Angela  had  watched  him  until 
he  had  passed  out  of  sight  through  the  folding-doors 
into  the  drawing-room  beyond;  and  then  she  had 
walked  downstairs  with  her  head  held  proudly,  and 
she  knew  what  had  brought  the  blood  flushing  warmly 
to  her  cheeks. 


64  Bawbee  Jock 

They  were  standing  close  underneath  the  picture, 
and  she  looked  up  at  the  painted  canvas. 

"Your  beautiful  lady  wears  a  rope  of  pearls,"  she 
said.  She  touched  her  bare  neck  and  shook  her 
head  sadly.  "But  I  have  no  pearls — only  my  own 
neck." 

"I  wish  I  could  have  given  you  the  pearls,"  mur- 
mured poor  Jock,  but  so  low  that  she  did  not  hear. 

"And  she  wears  a  rose,"  continued  Angela,  intent 
on  the  picture.  "I  had  no  rose,  so  I  wore  a  sprig  of 
my  r-roid — ^look! — tucked  in  here.  It  is  dreadfully 
squashed,  but  it  smells  all  the  sweeter  for  that!" 

Jock  felt  as  if  his  heart  would  burst  with  pride.  He 
could  not  trust  himself  to  say  a  single  word. 

She  turned  away  from  the  picture  and,  stepping 
back  a  Uttle,  surveyed  him  critically. 

"Yes,  you  do  look  fine!"  and  she  walked  round  him. 
"Now  tell  me  what  all  these  beautiful  things  mean," 
she  said.  "I  know  they  must  have  funny  names,  and 
I  shall  try  to  pronounce  them  after  you." 

And  so  he  had  to  tell  her  about  all  the  different 
characteristics  of  his  dress  —  which  he  did  rather 
shyly;  and  at  her  command  he  showed  her  their 
different  uses.  His  sporran  and  his  dirk,  and  the 
skean-dhu  sticking  out  of  the  folded-down  top  of 
his  stocking,  interested  her  enormously.  Even  his 
buckled  shoes  did  not  escape  her  notice;  and  the 
great  cairngorm  brooch  which  caught  up  the  folds  of 
his  plaid  on  his  shoulder  was  so  beautiful,  she  declared, 
that  she  must  stand  on  her  tiptoes  to  look  at  it. 

"I  am  glad  you  are  pleased,"  said  Jock,  reddening 
at  her  enthusiasm.  "Of  course  this  is  a  full-dress 
kilt  to  wear  on  big  occasions."     He  laughed.     "I 


In  the  Ancestral  Hall  65 

don't  get  myself  up  like  this  when  I  'm  working  on  my 
farm." 

"Where  is  your  farm?"  she  asked. 

"Over  the  hill  in  the  next  glen.  A  good  few  miles 
from  here." 

"And  you  live  there?    And  you  really  work?" 

"Rather!  I  work  very  hard,"  he  answered.  The 
interest  in  her  voice  was  so  sweet.  It  encouraged  him 
to  go  on.  "  I  am  my  own  agent  for  the  place,  you  see, 
and  that  gives  me  a  lot  to  do.  I  live  in  a  little  house 
over  at  the  clachan  on  the  loch  side.  We  don't  have 
big  farms  up  in  the  North  here  as  in  the  Lowlands. 
It 's  quite  a  small  bit;  my  father  used  to  keep  it  up 
as  the  home  farm." 

"What  is  a  c-clacken?"  asked  Angela.  "Oh  dear! 
I  know  I  did  not  pronounce  that  right.  You  make  it 
sound  much  softer." 

Jock  had  no  fault  to  find  with  the  sweet  voice. 

"A  clachan  is  a  small  village,"  he  said.  "You 
would  call  it  a  hamlet  probably  in  England." 

"Clack-chan."  Angela  nodded.  "I  managed  it 
better  that  time.  Tell  me  some  more  about  your 
clachan?  What  else  is  there  besides  the  village  and 
your  house?" 

"  There  's  a  church.  You  would  think  it  a  bare  kind 
of  place.  It 's  a  Presbyterian  church.  In  many 
of  our  Highland  glens  the  people  are  Roman  Catho- 
lics, but  we  are  not  up  here.  And  there  's  a  very  dear 
old,  minister,  who  lives  in  his  manse  close  by  the 
church;  and  then  there  's  the  loch,  and  the  Burying 
Island  out  in  the  middle  of  it." 

Angela  drew  a  little  nearer. 

"The    Burying    Island?"    she    repeated,    in    an 


66  Bawbee  Jock 

awestruck  voice.  "What  do  you  do  with  a  Burying 
Island?" 

"Bury  people  on  it,"  said  Jock.  "We  are  a  super- 
stitious race,  we  Highlanders.  Our  people  think  that 
to  be  surrounded  by  water  wards  off  the  evil  spirits. 
They  bring  their  dead  for  miles  from  the  outlying  glens 
to  bury  them  on  the  island;  and  wherever  they  rest 
the  coffin  on  the  way,  they  build  a  cairn  of  stones. 
You  will  see  these  cairns  dotted  all  over  the  country- 
side." 

"What  a  great  many  interesting  things  I  am  learn- 
ing!" said  Angela.  "Only  think  of  all  that  has  been 
crammed  into  this  one  day !  Learning  to  be  a  loader, 
and  how  to  shoot  grouse,  and  how  to  pronounce 
clacken — I  mean  clachan! — and — I  think  the  High- 
lands are  adorable.     What  shall  we  do  to-morrow?" 

"I  'm  going  away  to-morrow,"  said  Jock;  and  his 
tone  sounded  rather  flat. 

"Going  away?  Oh,  I  'm  so  sorry!"  She  did  not 
attempt  to  keep  the  frank  regret  out  of  her  voice. 
Angela  never  posed  or  pretended.  Perhaps  that  was 
what  made  her  so  dangerous. 

"Yes,  I  have  to " 

"Now,  then,  Angela,  what  are  you  doing?"  in- 
terrupted Flossie,  bustling  up  to  the  table  with  a 
candlestick  in  his  hand.  "Still  admiring  yourself, 
I  suppose,  and  thinking  you  look  like  that!"  He 
flourished  his  candlestick  towards  the  picture  on 
the  wall  and  then  held  it  out  to  her.  "It 's  time  to 
go  to  bed,"  he  said. 

"It's  not  time  to  go  to  bed,"  answered  Angela. 
"Every  one  has  gone  to  the  billiard-room.  I  heard 
Dolly  say  they  were  going  to  play  pool,  and  I  don't 


In  the  Ancestral  Hall  67 

wish  to  play  pool.  I  'm  learning  Gaelic — the  mean- 
ings of  things.  I  want  to  stay  here,  and  learn  the 
meanings  of  some  more  things." 

"Oh  indeed!"  Flossie  cocked  his  head  on  one  side 
like  a  pensive  parrot  and  raised  his  eyebrows.  Then 
he  began  to  sing  softly,  in  a  sweet  falsetto  voice: 

"  Little  birdie  on  the  tree, 
Twittering  to  the  baw-ing  bee." 

I  mean  bumbling  bee — I  mean " 

"Where  did  you  get  that  from?"  said  Angela,  eye- 
ing him  suspiciously.  "I  never  heard  you  singing  it 
before." 

"I  composed  it  in  my  bath  this  morning,"  an- 
swered Flossie  modestly —  "all  by  myself!  My  most 
burning  inspirations  always  do  come  to  me  then — if 
the  water  is  hot  enough.  I  could  have  gone  on  com- 
posing more,  only  I  remembered  I  did  n't  like  cold 
porridge." 

Angela  laughed. 

"You  can  go  away  and  compose  some  more  now, 
because  I  am  going  to  stay  here  and  learn  Gaelic. 
Every  one  is  doing  what  he  likes,  so  why  should  not 
I?  It 's  not  bedtime.  The  only  one  who  has  gone 
to  bed  respectably  is  Lady  Di." 

Flossie  blew  down  the  funnel  of  the  lamp,  and  put  it 
out. 

"If  you  're  going  to  say  things  like  that,  the  less 
light  there  is  the  better,"  he  remarked.  He  put  the 
candlestick  into  her  hand.  "  I  shall  give  you  just  as 
long  as  I  think  right.     Not  a  second  more!" 

He  shook  his  finger  at  her,  and  disappeared. 


68  Bawbee  Jock 

Angela  looked  at  Jock  across  the  flicker  of  the 
candle-flame;  her  eyes  were  dancing. 

"What  shall  we  play  at?"  she  half -whispered. 
"  Ghosts?  It 's  all  so  dark  and  shadowy  and  mysterious. 
I  know !  We  will  go  round  and  talk  to  all  the  pictures ; 
and  you  will  tell  me  who  they  are,  and  what  they  did, 
and  whether  they  were  nice  or  nasty,  and  who  they 
loved  and  who  they  hated,  and — and,  everything." 

She  gave  him  the  candlestick. 

"You  must  carry  it,  because  you  are  so  tall  and  I 
am  so  little.  And  you  must  hold  it  well  above  your 
head,  so  that  I  can  see  the  expressions  on  their  faces 
when  we  are  talking  about  them." 

Jock  did  as  he  was  told.  Was  there  anything  he 
would  not  have  done  at  her  bidding? 

"We  will  begin  with  this  fierce-looking  man  in  the 
kilt,"  said  Angela.  "I  am  so  glad  he  can't  jump  out 
of  his  frame.  I  don't  like  that  daggery  thing  he  is 
flourishing  above  his  head.  He  looks  as  if  he  were 
shouting  out  something." 

"That  'daggery  thing'  is  his  dirk,"  explained  Jock, 
"and  he  is  shouting.  It 's  the  slogan — his  battle-cry. 
He  was  a  great  warrior;  he  fought  at  Langside  for 
Queen  Mary." 

"What  did  you  call  it?"  asked  Angela.  "Slo— 
what?" 

"Slogan.  It  means  a  battle-cry.  Every  clan  has 
its  own  battle-cry.  It  served  as  a  watchword  in  cases 
of  sudden  alarm,  or  in  the  confusion  of  battle,  or  in  the 
darkness  of  the  night.  The  clansmen  knew,  when 
they  heard  it,  where  to  rally  round  their  chief.  That 
and  the  clan  badge  were  bound  to  distinguish  them  in 
a  fight." 


In  the  Ancestral  Hall  69 

"The  clan  badge!"  echoed  Angela.  "What  is 
that?  Oh  dear!  what  a  lot  of  funny  things  you  High- 
landers have." 

Jock  drew  his  dirk,  and  showed  her,  engraved  on  the 
silver  band  which  encircled  the  jewelled  hilt,  a  finely 
traced  wreath  of  holly. 

"That  is  our  badge,"  he  said— "the  holly.  The 
clansmen  wore  the  badge  of  their  clan  in  their  bon- 
nets. It  marked  them  out  as  belonging  to  their  own 
particular  clan.  We  wear  the  badge  on  other  things 
as  well." 

"I  know!"  exclaimed  Angela.  She  raised  herself 
again  on  her  tiptoes.  "Yes,  it  's  round  your  brooch 
too !  Such  a  dear  little  wreath !  Was  n't  it  clever  of 
me  to  notice  that?" 

She  regained  her  balance  hiuriedly,  for  the  candle 
had  flashed  its  light  on  Jock's  face,  and  its  expression 
betrayed  him  more  than  he  knew. 

"  We  will  go  on  to  the  other  pictures  now,"  she  said. 

They  made  the  tour  of  the  hall,  side  by  side;  and 
so  long  as  Jock  looked  at  the  pictures,  he  managed  to 
keep  his  head  fairly  steady;  but  when  he  looked  at 
Angela,  his  story  grew  sadly  confused  and  tangled. 
Then  she  took  up  the  tale,  and  weaved  into  it  all 
manner  of  quaint  conceits  and  pretty  fancies,  at  which 
they  both  laughed  and  sighed,  for  she  possessed  a 
wonderful  power  of  drawing  out  the  pathos  as  well  as 
the  humour  and  romance  from  whatever  appealed  to 
her  ready  tongue  and  brain. 

"Now,  we  have  finished  them  all,"  she  said.  "And 
I  think  they  ought  to  be  very  pleased  to  have  been 
taken  so  much  notice  of.  It  must  be  so  dull  always 
having  to  look  on  and  say  nothing." 


70  Bawbee  Jock 

She  caught  up  the  train  of  her  long  satin  gown  and, 
spreading  it  out,  swept  curtseys  to  right  and  left  of 
her,  to  each  of  the  iour  walls  in  turn. 

"There!  all  you  painted  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  she 
said.  "I  am  one  of  you  to-night.  Don't  you  recog- 
nise my  frock?  I  hope  you  are  pleased  with  all  the 
nice  things  I  have  said  about  you."  She  went  up  to 
the  beautiftil  reflection  of  herself  and  dropped  it  the 
lowest  curtsey  of  all.  "That  is  to  appease  her,"  she 
said  to  Jock  over  her  shoulder.  "I  don't  expect  she 
likes  to  see  me  masquerading  in  her  best  gown.  Per- 
haps it  makes  her  feel  what  Flossie  would  call  rather 
catty!  I  know  it  would  me.  I  should  long  to  cry 
out,  'You  Uttle  impostor!  How  dare  you  peacock 
about  in  my  clothes!'  " 

"It  looks  so  pretty  to  see  you  making  these  curt- 
seys," said  Jock.  "  The  reflection  of  your  dress  shines 
on  the  polish  of  the  floor.  And  your  feet !  They  kind 
of  twinkle." 

Angela  looked  down  at  her  little  satin-shod  feet 
which  were  peeping  like  white  mice  from  under  the 
rich  folds  of  her  skirt. 

"We  ought  to  dance  a  minuet  or  something  old- 
fashioned,  oughtn't  we?"  she  said.  "You  are 
dressed  so  beautifully.  And  so  am  I.  Shall  we? — 
just  by  ourselves,  with  no  one  looking  on  to  criticise?" 

"I  'm  afraid  I  can't  dance  anything  but  a  reel,  or" 
— ^Jock  hesitated — "the  sword-dance.  But  that's 
only  for  one  person." 

" The  sword-dance?     What  is  that? "  asked  Angela. 

"You  lay  two  swords,  crossing  each  other,  on  the 
floor.  And  you  dance  in  between  the  blades,  and  you 
must  not  touch  them  with  your  feet." 


In  the  Ancestral  Hall  71 

"That  sounds  quite  impossible,"  she  exclaimed. 
"You  would  be  sure  to  trip  over  them." 

Jock  squared  his  shoulders. 

"I  should  be  very  much  annoyed  with  myself  if  I 
did,  if  you  were  looking  on,"  he  answered.  "My 
father  taught  me  my  steps  when  I  was  a  little  chap  and 
reached  no  higher  than  his  dirk ;  and  I  got  what-for  if 
I  did  not  please  him.  He  used  to  stand  there,  on  that 
deerskin  rug  by  the  fireplace,  and  my  mother  sat  in 
that  big  carved  chair,  with  Alister,  my — my  younger 
brother,  on  her  knee;  and  old  Roderick,  oiir  piper, 
walked  up  and  down  at  the  end  of  the  room  playing 
the  pipes,  and  I  had  to  stand  up  and  dance  my 
steps." 

Angela  came  close  up  to  him.  She  put  her  hands 
behind  her  back,  and  said  persuasively: 

"Will  you  dance  it — the  sword-dance,  I  mean — for 
me? — ^now?" 

Jock  flushed  and  looked  at  her  doubtfully. 

"We  have  n't  got  the  pipes,"  he  said.  "It  is  no- 
thing without  that — except — I  might  whistle  the  tune." 

"Oh  do — please,  do!"  pleaded  Angela.  "And  do 
begin  at  once,  in  case  Flossie  or  some  of  the  others 
come  back — and  that  would  spoil  it  all." 

Jock  drew  himself  up.  He  offered  her  his  hand,  and 
with  a  gallantry  which  sat  well  on  him  led  her  to  the 
big  carved  chair. 

"You  shall  sit  there,  and  look  on,"  he  said. 

He  fetched  a  footstool  for  her  feet  to  rest  on,  for  the 
chair  was  high,  and  they  did  not  nearly  reach  the 
ground;  and  he  placed  the  candle  on  a  stand  where 
it  would  throw  its  circle  of  light  on  the  dark  shining 
boards. 


72  Bawbee  Jock 

"I  feel  so  funny  sitting  perched  up  here,"  said 
Angela — "like  the  King  opening  Parliament." 

"Like  a  Queen,"  said  Jock,  bowing  to  her. 

He  stood  uncertainly  for  a  few  moments,  looking 
round  him;  and  then,  with  his  light  step,  flitted  away 
into  the  shadows.  Angela  felt  a  thrill  of  expectancy 
tingling  through  her  veins.  Her  hands  clung  tightly 
to  the  arms  of  the  big  carved  chair,  and  she  waited 
eagerly  to  see  what  he  would  do.  The  old  hall,  with 
its  painted  beauties  and  grim  warriors  looking  down 
from  their  frames,  the  red  glow  from  the  peat-fire 
smouldering  on  the  hearth,  the  candle-light  shimmer- 
ing along  the  dark  surface  of  the  time-worn  boards, 
made  a  fitting  background  for  the  scene.  She  drew 
in  her  breath  with  a  sharp  catch  as  she  saw  Jock  flit 
out  again  from  the  shadows. 

Taking  down  from  the  wall,  where  they  hung  among 
the  old  Highland  targets  and  the  Lochaber  axes,  the 
two  claymores  over  which  he  had  so  often  been  taught 
to  dance  as  a  boy,  he  placed  them  with  their  blades 
lightly  crossing  on  the  polished  floor. 

Standing  gracefully,  a  httle  clear  of  the  basket- 
hilt  of  one  of  the  swords,  he  was,  in  a  moment,  dancing 
lightly  round,  outside  them,  with  his  arms  held  well 
out,  the  hands  a  little  above  the  level  of  the  shoulders, 
but  swinging  easily  with  every  movement  of  his  body, 
and  the  body  and  feet  keeping  exact  time  to  the 
rhythm  of  the  "  Kellie  Galium,"  which  he  half  whistled 
and  half  blew,  as  he — or  so  it  seemed  in  the  dim  light 
of  the  old  hall — almost  floated  round  the  swords,  so 
quietly  and  gracefully  did  he  move. 

Coming  back  to  the  head  of  the  sword  from  which 
Jbe  had  started,  with  one  quick,  Hght  spring  he  was 


In  the  Ancestral  Hall  73 

right  in  across  the  swords;  and  then,  to  any  one  who 
knew,  the  real  difficulty  of  the  dance  had  begun. 

Dancing  almost  on  the  points  of  his  toes,  he  moved 
with  wonderful  lightness  from  one  square  to  another 
over  the  swords,  crossing  first  the  blades  and  then  the 
hilts  with  such  quickness  that  it  seemed  almost  im- 
possible that  the  old  Andrea  Ferraras,  or  the  basket- 
hilts  in  which  they  were  fixed,  could  escape  being 
touched  or  moved. 

But  his  balance  was  perfect;  and  it  was  clear  from 
the  way  in  which  every  part  of  him  kept  time  to  his 
half -whistled  tune  that  he  was  a  true  Highlander  and 
a  born  dancer. 

He  only  changed  his  step  twice.  Dancing  lightly 
backwards  with  the  pretty  "Cover  the  Buckle"  step, 
he  finished  beside  Angela's  chair.  He  was  breathing 
a  little  quickly.  Angela  was  very  pale,  and  she  did  not 
speak,  and  he  was  afraid  that  he  had  not  pleased  her. 

"I  've  grown  rather  stiff,"  he  said  apologetically; 
"I  'm  out  of  practice.  I  have  not  danced  it  for  so 
long." 

She  still  did  not  speak,  but  held  out  her  hand.  The 
colour  rushed  up  to  his  brow,  and  he  took  it,  and  held 
it  in  his,  and  looked  at  it,  and  then  looked  at  her. 

"What  am  I  to  do  with  it?"  he  stammered  un- 
steadily. 

She  laughed,  a  little  low  laugh — a  laugh  that  lit  her 
eyes  softly  and  rippled  round  her  lips. 

"What  happens  when  a  man  receives  an  honour 
from  his  Royal  Master?"  She  raised  her  eyebrows 
interrogatively.  "They  say  'He  kissed  hands  on  his 
new  appointment.'  Kneel  down!"  she  said,  with  a 
pretty  gesture  of  imperiousness. 


74  Bawbee  Jock 

Jock  knelt  down  before  her.  She  touched  him 
lightly  on  the  shoulder  just  where  the  big  cairngorm 
brooch  caught  up  the  folds  of  his  tartan  plaid. 

"I  appoint  you  to  be  my — what  shall  I  say?  My 
most  honourable  Sword  Dancer.  Now — you  may 
kiss  my  hand,  and  then —  Oh,  please  go  and  pick 
up  the  swords  and  bring  them  here  for  me  to  look  at!" 
she  concluded  hturiedly. 

Jock  rose.  He  felt  rather  queer  and  dizzy  about 
his  head;  but  he  brought  her  the  two  old  claymores, 
and  he  answered  all  her  questions  about  them,  and 
then  he  laid  them  at  her  feet  and  sat  down  beside  them 
on  the  deerskin  rug  in  front  of  the  fire  and  stared  into 
the  glowing  heart  of  the  peat-sods ;  and  neither  of  them 
spoke — he,  because  he  covdd  not.  This  new  and 
wondrous  passion  of  love  was  flooding  his  soul,  sweep- 
ing away  all  the  old  landmarks.  He  had  been  only  a 
big,  honest,  simple-minded  boy  at  heart  before,  clean 
and  sound  to  the  core,  a  child  of  Nature's  teaching 
and  one  of  God's  gentlemen.  Love  was  revealing  him 
to  himself,  teaching  him  the  mystery  of  his  own  man- 
hood. He  could  not  have  expressed  his  emotion  in 
words  if  he  had  tried.  There  was  no  language  big 
enough  for  it. 

And  as  he  stared  into  the  fire,  other  emotions 
struggled  within  him.  Something  was  gripping  at  his 
throat,  with  a  catch  of  bitter  pain. 

The  irony  of  fate!  This  was  his  home — the  old 
heritage  which  had  been  handed  down  to  him  from 
generation  to  generation.  Many  a  scene  of  feudal 
pomp  had  that  old  hall  witnessed.  It  had  echoed  to 
the  voices  of  fair  women  and  gallant  men,  to  the  sound 
of  arms  and  the  clash  of  steel.     It  was  his,  and  he  was 


Ill  the  Ancestral  Hall  75 

as  a  stranger  within  its  walls;  and  yet,  for  one  brief 
space  of  time  that  night,  he  had  grasped  a  fleeting 
shadow  of  the  old  life  and  been  given  a  heavenly 
vision  of  the  might-have-been. 

He  groaned  in  spirit.  If  only  he  were  free — free 
to  claim  his  home  and  his  rank  and  his  right  of 
heritage,  and  to  lay  them,  as  he  had  laid  the  old 
battle-stained  claymores,  at  her  feet! 

And  she?  She  did  not  speak;  but  she  knew  that 
that  night  she  had  crossed  the  threshold  and  entered 
into  the  enchanted  land.  Old  doubts  and  old  fears 
had  melted  away,  as  night-mists  melt  before  the 
breath  of  dawn ;  and  her  face  was  set  to  meet  the  dawn 
and  she  was  not  afraid.  For  all  her  youth,  she  was 
wise  in  the  ways  of  the  world,  for  she  knew  the  world 
she  belonged  to.  Her  girlish  eyes  had  looked  through 
the  portals  of  the  gates  of  the  garden  of  pleasure;  and 
her  heart  had  sometimes  stood  still  with  a  nameless 
fear  when  she  had  thought  of  how  her  feet  were  to 
tread  its  flowery  paths. 

She  watched  his  face,  with  the  peat-glow  reflected 
in  his  eyes,  and  she  guessed  his  thoughts — for  they 
were  very  transparent.  She  knew  that  he  loved  her; 
and  she  knew  that  she  had  found  her  mate.  It  did 
not  make  her  feel  abashed  or  ashamed  to  think  that  he 
had  not  told  her  in  words  that  he  loved  her.  For 
some  reason  he  could  not,  and  she  felt  for  him  some- 
thing of  the  yearning  pity  and  compassion  of  a  mother 
who  sees  her  child  perplexed  and  puzzled  and  be- 
wildered and  cannot  hold  out  a  helping  hand.  It  was 
the  divine  instinct  of  motherhood,  which  lies  at  the 
root  of  love  in  every  true  woman's  heart. 

So  they  sat  in  the  firelight,  and  did  not  speak — she 


76  Bawbee  Jock 

because,  being  a  woman,  she  could  not;  and  he, 
because  the  great  love  which  he  dared  not  utter 
seemed  to  be  tearing  the  heart  out  of  his  bosom. 

Sounds  from  the  billiard-room  echoed  in  the  dis- 
tance— the  opening  and  shutting  of  doors,  the  shrill 
sound  of  women's  voices  and  the  deeper  tones  of  men's, 
reached  their  ears. 

Angela  raised  her  head. 

"Oh  dear!"  she  murmured.  "That  means  that 
they  are  all  coming  back." 

"Yes — they  are  coming  back,"  Jock  repeated  after 
her  in  a  dull,  lifeless  tone. 

"  In  two  minutes  Flossie  will  nm  in  and  tell  us  that 
the  time  is  up,"  sighed  Angela.  "It  would  be  fun  to 
blow  out  the  candle  and  hide;  and  then  he  would  go 
fussing  round,  calling  out,  'Angela!  Angela!  you 
naughty  puss!  Come  out  at  once!'  That  is  what 
he  used  to  say  when  I  was  a  tiny  tot,  and  rolled  my- 
self up  in  the  nursery  curtains  when  he  came  to 
play  with  me." 

Jock  had  risen  to  his  feet  and  stood  looking  down  at 
her,  as  she  sat  in  the  big  chair.  Her  satin  gown  fell 
in  soft  white  folds  about  her  little  feet  as  they  rested 
on  the  high  stool,  and  the  candle-light  caught  the 
sheen  of  the  blue  ribbon  in  her  hair,  and  he  could  smell 
the  sweet,  aromatic  scent  of  the  faded  bunch  of  roid. 

' '  Is — is  that  your  name  ?  Angela  ?  "  he  said  huskily. 
His  lips  trembled  over  the  word. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  softly.  "Do  you  think  it  is 
pretty?  It  is  not  at  all  appropriate,  because  I  am 
not  an  angel  at  all.  Flossie  would  tell  you  that. 
Oh,  there  he  comes!  Don't  you  hear  him  blowing  his 
nose  like  a  motor-horn?" 


In  the  Ancestral  Hall  77 

"And — this  is  good-bye?"  stammered  Jock. 

Angela's  eyes  fell.  She  studied  the  points  of  her 
shoes  and  murmured: 

"Is  the  clack — clachan,  I  mean — too  far  away  for 
you  to — come  back  and — pay  calls?  Oh  dear! 
there  's  the  motor-horn  again.  Flossie  will  give  him- 
self a  dreadful  headache  if  he  blows  so  hard."  She 
pushed  aside  the  footstool,  but  her  feet  could  not 
touch  the  floor.  "Please  help  me,"  she  said.  And  he 
took  the  hand  she  gave  him,  and  helped  her  down  from 
the  big  chair.  "Thank  you."  She  shook  out  her 
satin  skirts,  and  dropped  him  a  curtsey,  prettier  than 
any  she  had  given  to  the  painted  ladies  and  grim  war- 
riors ;  and  the  dimple  at  the  corner  of  her  mouth  looked 
very  dangerous.  There  was  a  mischievous  challenge 
in  her  eyes  as  they  flashed  up  at  him.  "You  know,  it 
would  really  be  quite  the  proper  thing  for  you  to  come 
and  call,  because" — she  smiled  at  her  lovely  counter- 
part on  the  wall — "because  I  am  your  great-great- 
grandmother!" 


Angela  sat  for  a  long  time  in  front  of  her  dressing- 
table  that  night  before  she  went  to  bed,  and  talked  to 
herself  in  the  glass.  She  did  not  scold;  there  was  a 
misty  look  in  her  eyes,  almost  as  though  they  shone 
through  tears;  and  a  quivering  smile  hovered  round 
her  lips  which  made  the  words  they  uttered  sound 
sweet  and  tender  even  to  her  own  ears. 

"He  is  just  like  a  lost  child.  His  dear,  big,  honest 
heart  was  bursting,  and  he  could  not  speak  because 
there  is  a  reason.  I  am  going  to  find  out  that  reason. 
I  must — I  really  must,  for  his  own  sake." 


CHAPTER  VI 

AN  ACCIDENT  IN  THE  GLEN 

JOCK  left  soon  after  breakfast  the  following  morn- 
ing, and  he  said  good-bye  to  Angela  before  a  great 
many  people,  and  very  few  words  passed  between 
them. 

"  How  are  you  going  to  journey  to  your — clachan?  " 
she  had  asked  gaily.  "With  yotir  knapsack  in  your 
hand,  and  your  gun  over  your  shoulder?" 

"My  things  will  go  with  the  post-gig,"  Jock  had 
answered.  "  I  have  some  business  to  do  up  one  of  the 
other  glens,  and  I  shall  walk  back  over  the  hill." 

Angela  found  the  morning  passing  quickly,  because 
she  was  never  dull  nor  allowed  herself  to  be  bored, 
wherever  she  was.  After  lunch  she  explored  the  old- 
fashioned  walled  garden,  and  made  friends  with  the 
gardener.  He  was  very  Highland,  and  spoke  English 
with  the  same  sing-song  drawl  as  old  Donald.  He 
told  her,  among  other  things,  that  he  had  never  been 
out  of  Glenmoira  all  his  life,  and  that  he  was  sure  that 
there  was  no  place  like  it  in  the  world. 

He  was  very  polite,  but  it  was  evident  that  he  did 
not  like  the  Sassenach  rule  at  Glenmoira.  Angela 
humbly  owned  that  she  was  a  Sassenach  herself,  and 
he  looked  at  her  doubtfully;  but  he  was  a  true  Celt, 
and  beauty  appealed  to  him.  He  presented  her  with 
78 


An  Accident  in  the  Glen  79 

a  bouquet,  which  she  accepted  with  one  of  her  radiant 
smiles,  and  his  heart  passed  for  ever  into  her  keeping. 

She  found  a  bench  at  the  top  of  the  garden,  where 
she  sat  down  and  was  enjoying  herself  to  her  own 
satisfaction,  when  her  reveries  were  broken  in  upon  by 
the  unexpected  appearance  of  Captain  de  Burgh. 

The  Beauty  arrived  at  a  most  imfortunate  moment 
for  himself.  She  was  looking  so  very  pretty.  There 
was  a  sweet,  happy,  tender  light  in  her  eyes;  and 
he  was  not  to  know  what  had  brought  it  there.  He 
lost  his  head,  and  rushing  blindly  on  his  fate,  the  in- 
evitable happened. 

Angela  was  very  sorry.  She  had  been  feeling  so 
happy  that  she  had  forgotten  about  him  altogether. 
If  she  had  been  on  her  guard,  she  might  have  avoided 
the  crisis.  She  was  very  sorry — kindly,  gently  sorry; 
but  she  had  to  give  him  his  dismissal. 

The  Beauty  took  his  beating  badly.  He  used  every 
[argument  of  pleading,  reproach,  love,  and  indignation, 
[to  try  to  shake  her  resolve. 

'Then  I  shall  go  away,"  he  said  at  last.     "I  can't 
[stay  here.     I  shall  leave  to-night." 

It  was  no  use  for  Angela  to  remonstrate,  or  to  assert 
that  it  would  be  so  much  pleasanter  to  shake  hands 
ind  be  friends,  and  take  up  life  on  a  different  basis;  he 
continued  to  make  the  same  answer — that  he  could 
lot  stay  at  Glenmoira.  He  would  go  away — that 
light — the  sooner  the  better,  he  reiterated. 

Angela  felt  very  uncomfortable,  as  though  she  were 

[the  culprit  and  ought  to  go  away  herself.     The  Beauty 

'  took  a  gloomy  satisfaction  in  making  her  feel  that  she 

had  treated  him  badly,  and  she  resented  it.     It  was 

very  petty  of  him  to  put  her  in  the  wrong,  and  it  was 


8o  Bawbee  Jock 

not  fair,  because  she  had  not  encouraged  him  to 
believe  that  she  cared  for  him. 

He  rose  at  length,  and,  looking  very  handsome  and 
sulky  and  injured,  held  out  his  hand  and  said  good- 
bye, leaving  her  seated  on  the  old  garden-bench. 

She  did  not  believe  that  he  meant  to  leave  Glen- 
moira,  or  that  his  good-bye  meant  anjrthing  more  se- 
rious than  holding  himself  aloof  for  the  next  few  days 
and  scowling  at  her  from  a  distance.  She  watched  him 
walk  down  the  garden-path  in  the  direction  of  the 
house,  and  something  in  the  way  he  carried  himself 
roused  in  her  a  Httle  spirit  of  devilry. 

"I  'm  not  one  bit  sorry  for  him,"  she  murmured, 
and  her  eyes  sparkled  maliciously. 

The  Beauty  had  wooed  and  won,  and  ridden  away 
so  often,  leaving  broken  hearts  behind  him.  Perhaps 
the  cards  of  destiny  were  only  deaHng  out  to  him 
measiu"e  for  measure,  according  to  his  deserts. 

She  leant  back  against  the  garden-bench.  A  row 
of  beehives  ran  down  by  the  side  of  a  wall  near  by,  and 
the  hum  of  the  busy  little  workers  was  borne  over  to 
where  she  was  sitting.  It  was  a  peaceful,  drowsy 
sound,  soothing  to  Hsten  to. 

"But  you  are  not  really  soothing  at  all,"  she  said 
severely  to  a  heavy-laden  bee  as  it  droned  past  her. 
She  bent  forward  to  watch  the  humming  throng. 
"Fussy,  restless  little  things!  So  selfish  and  self- 
absorbed  and  greedy,  hoarding  up  yoiir  store  of 
honeyed  bawbees,  whilst  your  master,  your  poor  chief, 
has  no  bawbees  to  store!" 

She  smiled  at  the  conceit  of  her  own  thought,  and 
then,  looking  at  her  watch,  rose  hastily.  It  was  past 
four  o'clock.     After  the  unpleasant  scene  she  had  just 


An  Accident  in  the  Glen  8i 

passed  through  with  Beauty  de  Burgh  she  did  not 
wish  to  go  back  to  the  house  and  meet  him,  and  if  she 
remained  where  she  was,  some  officiously  disposed 
person  might  come  and  find  her,  to  bring  her  in  to 
tea.  The  thought  hurried  her  away  in  the  opposite 
direction  from  the  house. 

She  found  a  gate  which  took  her  out  of  the  garden, 
and  walking  on  for  a  little  way,  struck  into  a  path 
which  led  up  to  the  turf  wall  skirting  the  edge  of  the 
moor.  She  found  the  exact  spot  where  she  had  sat 
with  Jock  the  day  before,  and  where  he  had  told 
her  that  there  was  a  reason  and  asked  her  not  to 
misunderstand. 

She  picked  a  bunch  of  roid  from  the  same  clump  of 
green  that  he  had  picked  it  from,  and,  fastening  it  into 
her  coat,  continued  her  walk.  A  Highland  moor  is 
alluring,  even  when  there  is  no  one  to  tell  you  the 
meaning  underlying  every  patch  of  heather  or  crotal- 
stained  boulder,  and  she  wandered  on,  paying  little 
attention  to  how  the  time  was  flying  or  to  where  her 
steps  were  leading  her. 

"I  believe  I  have  lost  my  way,"  she  said  to  herself 
at  last,  stopping  and  looking  round.  "I  have  not 
seen  the  vestige  of  a  path  for  ages." 

She  had  strayed  off  the  moor  and  was  standing  on 
a  ridge  looking  down  into  a  wild,  rocky  glen.  A  little 
stream  ran  noisily  at  the  foot  of  it;  in  the  distance 
she  saw  a  thin  column  of  blue  smoke  rising  into  the 
still  air. 

She  went  a  short  way  down  the  steep  bank,  and 
then  hesitated.  Should  she  go  on,  or  turn  back?  She 
glanced  over  her  shoulder  and  gave  a  quick,  frightened 
gasp.     A  shaggy  head  with  great  horns,  and  tangled 


82  Bawbee  Jock 

tawny  hair  hanging  round  it,  and  a  pair  of  eyes,  stared 
at  her  from  over  the  top  of  a  rock  not  six  paces 
away. 

With  a  scream  of  terror  she  turned  and  fled 
down  the  hillside,  through  the  bracken  and  heather 
towards  the  blue  column  of  smoke. 

The  little  Highland  cow  was  quite  harmless,  and 
did  not  attempt  to  follow  her;  but  as  she  never  stopped 
to  look  back,  she  did  not  know  that  it  was  merely 
watching  her  with  bovine  placidity,  and  she  fled  on. 
The  ground  was  treacherous,  the  heather  dragged  at 
her  skirt,  and  the  bracken  twisted  round  her  ankles, 
but  terror  lent  wings  to  her  feet.  She  had  come  in 
sight  of  the  cottage  from  which  the  smoke  was  rising, 
and  was  hurrying  still  faster  with  the  hope  of  safety 
near,  when  she  stumbled  and  fell.  She  tried  to  re- 
cover herself,  but  slipped,  and  rolling  over  and  over, 
landed  finally  on  her  back  in  a  deep  hollow.  There 
she  lay,  with  such  an  excruciating  pain  stinging 
through  her  foot  that  it  made  her  sick  and  faint,  and 
she  knew  that  she  would  have  no  strength  to  call  out 
or  save  herself  when  that  terrible  head  made  its  ap- 
pearance again. 

How  long  she  lay  there  she  could  not  tell;  the 
hollow  was  deep,  and  she  could  see  nothing  beyond 
it.  Then  she  felt  her  heart  stand  still  with  fright,  and 
a  clammy,  cold  chill  crept  through  her  limbs,  for  there 
was  the  sound  of  heavy  breathing  close  beside  her. 
She  shut  her  eyes  and  ttimed  her  head  aside.  If  she 
was  to  be  devoured,  she  would  not  look.  The  sound 
of  breathing  drew  nearer.  It  was  close  above  her — 
a  kind  of  deep  panting;  and  then  something  cold  and 
soft  and  slimy  touched  her.    With  one  final  effort  she 


An  Accident  in  the  Glen  83 

tried  to  struggle  to  her  feet,  but  with  a  moan  of  pain 
she  fell  back  and  fainted  away. 

When  she  came  to  herself  again,  it  was  to  a  dreamy, 
dazed  kind  of  consciousness  that  she  was  being  carried, 
and  that  her  cheek  lay  against  something  rough  which 
had  a  peculiar  peaty  smell  of  homespun  about  it,  and 
reminded  her  of  sitting  in  the  shooting-butt  with  Jock. 
And  then — memory  came  back  with  a  rush.  She 
remembered  what  had  happened,  and  she  knew  who 
was  carrying  her. 

She  opened  her  eyes  and  shut  them  again  quickly. 
She  did  not  wish  Jock  to  see  that  she  was  conscious. 
He  was  so  intent  on  picking  his  steps  so  as  not  to  shake 
her,  that  it  would  be  a  pity  to  distract  his  attention; 
and  although  her  foot  hurt  horribly,  she  was  content  to 
lie  still,  for  she  knew  that  she  was  safe,  and  that  he 
would  take  care  of  her.  The  broad  shoulder  she 
leant  against  made  a  restful  pillow  for  her  head,  and 
without  quite  opening  her  eyes,  she  could  look 
at  him  through  her  eyelashes.  It  gave  her  a  differ- 
ent view  of  him  to  what  she  had  ever  had  before. 
He  wore  his  moustache  very  short  and  brushed 
sharply  back,  and  his  mouth  was  the  best  feature  in 
his  face. 

She  felt  him  stumble,  ever  so  slightly,  as  a  loose 
stone  rolled  from  under  his  foot,  and  he  looked  down 
at  her  and  she  shut  her  eyes  again  very  tightly.  But 
it  was  no  use.  She  was  betrayed,  and  she  knew  that 
the  colour  was  racing  up  into  her  cheeks  and  that  it 
was  quite  impossible  to  keep  on  pretending  any  longer 
that  she  was  in  a  dead  faint.  She  opened  her  eyes 
wide  this  time. 

"Where  are  you  taking  me  to?"  she  asked. 


84  Bawbee  Jock 

The  anxious  furrow  on  his  brow  cleared;  a  look  of 
relief  came  into  his  face;  he  stopped. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  hear  you  speak,"  he  said.  "What 
happened?     Where  are  you  hurt?" 

"It 's  my  foot,"  she  murmured.  She  tried  to  raise 
herself,  and  a  stab  of  pain,  like  a  burning  knife  being 
driven  into  her  ankle,  made  her  fall  back  against  his 
shotilder. 

"I  am  so  sorry,"  he  said.  "I  am  afraid  it  is  hurt- 
ing you  very  badly." 

"If  I  could  only  get  my  boot  off!"  she  whispered 
through  her  white  lips.     "  It  feels  like  a  band  of  fire." 

"Perhaps  I  can  make  that  better,"  he  said;  and 
kneeling  down  and  still  keeping  her  pillowed  against 
his  shoulder,  he  felt  for  his  knife,  and  taking  her  foot 
in  his  hand  he  slit  up  the  lace  of  her  boot  and  gently 
drew  it  off. 

"Oh,  what  a  relief!"  she  murmured  faintly. 

He  slipped  the  little  brown  boot  into  his  pocket. 

"Do  you  feel  well  enough  to  go  on?"  he  asked. 
"We  will  be  there  in  another  minute  and  Sheila  will 
know  what  to  do  to  make  the  pain  better." 

"Where  is  'there'?  and  who  is  Sheila?"  asked 
Angela.  The  relief  of  feeling  her  foot  free  from  the 
pressiire  of  the  boot  was  immense,  and  she  began  to 
revive. 

"Sheila  is  old  Donald's  wife,  and  she  lives  in  a 
cottage  quite  near,"  explained  Jock. 

"That  would  be  the  cottage  that  I  saw  the  smoke 
coming  from,"  said  Angela.  "I  was  trying  to  reach 
it.  I  was  running  away  from  a  beast  with  terrible 
horns  when  I  tripped  and  fell.  I  lay  for  ages  expect- 
ing to  be  eaten  up;  and  something  came  and  sniffed 


An  Accident  in  the  Glen  85 

round  me  with  a  dreadfully  cold  nose.  I  was  so 
terrified  that  I  suppose  I  fainted  from  fright." 

"That  was  my  dog,"  said  Jock.  "I  might  have 
passed  by  if  it  had  not  been  for  him.  Do  you  think 
you  can  bear  being  moved  again?  I  will  try  not  to 
hurt  you." 

He  raised  her  carefully  in  his  arms  and  moved 
on.  The  little  cottage  from  which  the  blue  smoke 
was  rising  was  only  a  few  hundred  yards  away 
now. 

"Sheila! — Sheila!"  he  called  as  he  drew  near;  and 
Angela  heard  a  woman's  voice  answer. 

"I  will  carry  you  straight  into  the  kitchen,"  he 
said;  "I  won't  jar  you,  so  don't  be  frightened." 

The  doorway  of  the  cottage  was  so  low  that  he  had 
to  bend  his  head  to  pass  under  it ;  but  he  did  not  hurt 
her,  and  the  next  minute  Angela  felt  herself  gently 
lowered,  and  she  was  deposited  in  an  old-fashioned 
arm-chair  drawn  up  beside  a  fireplace  where  a  fire 
smouldered  on  the  low  hearth. 

A  dark-eyed  old  woman,  who  yet  did  not  look  old, 
drew  near  and  curtseyed  to  her  respectfully.  She  wore 
a  black  skirt  and  a  blue-and- white  checked  apron,  and 
a  little  green  tartan  shawl  was  crossed  over  her  bosom. 
Everything  about  her  was  spotlessly  neat  and  fresh 
and  clean;  and  she  wore  the  sweetest  cap  imaginable. 
A  white  goffered  frill  encircled  it,  enclosing  her  face 
like  the  petals  of  a  flower,  and  it  was  tied  with  a  tape 
bow  under  her  chin.  Angela  afterwards  discovered 
that  it  was  called  a  mutch. 

Jock  spoke  to  her  rapidly  in  Gaelic.  He  was  evi- 
dently explaining  what  was  the  matter,  and  Sheila 
nodded,  and  appeared  qtiite  to  understand,  for  she 


86  Bawbee  Jock 

gave  him  a  bucket,  and  as  he  took  it,  he  smiled 
reassuringly  at  Angela. 

"You  're  all  right  now,"  he  said.  "Sheila  knows 
what  to  do.  She  doctors  all  of  us  in  the  glen  here. 
I  'm  going  to  the  spring  to  get  some  fresh  cold  water 
for  her  to  bandage  your  foot  with";  and  he  went  off 
with  the  bucket. 

Sheila  drew  another  chair  alongside  of  the  big  one, 
and  laid  the  poor  foot  tenderly  on  a  pillow  which  she 
fetched  from  the  inner  room.  The  foot  was  swollen 
to  nearly  double  its  size,  and  Sheila  touched  it  and 
looked  at  Angela. 

"It  will  be  the  goot  stocking  that  I  will  have  to 
cut,"  she  said,  holding  up  a  pair  of  scissors  to  show 
what  she  wanted  to  do.  She  spoke  like  Donald,  with 
the  same  sweet,  sing-song  plaint  in  her  voice,  Angela 
noticed. 

"Oh  yes!  cut  it  off.     Do  anything.     I  don't  mind." 

Sheila  very  gently  cut  away  the  stocking ;  and  then 
she  brought  a  small  wooden  tub  and  poured  some  stuff 
into  it  from  a  black  bottle  which  gave  out  a  pungent 
aromatic  smell.  When  Jock  came  back  with  the  cold 
water  she  took  the  bucket  from  him  at  the  door, 
and  then  he  disappeared  and  left  Sheila  to  do  her 
doctoring. 

The  water  was  deliciously  cool  and  Sheila's  fingers 
were  light  and  tender.  There  seemed  to  be  some- 
thing magnetic  in  their  touch. 

"Thank  you  so  much,"  said  Angela  gratefiilly,  when 
the  last  fold  of  the  bandage  had  been  fastened,  and 
Sheila  had  rearranged  the  pillow  and  made  a  kind  of 
cradle  for  the  wounded  foot  to  lie  on. 

Sheila  smiled. 


An  Accident  in  the  Glen  87 

"Is  it  petter  already?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  much  better!"  sighed  Angela.  "How  soon 
will  I  be  able  to  get  on  my  boot  and  walk  home?  Not 
that  I  want  to  hurry  away,"  she  added  quickly, 
glancing  round  the  kitchen,  where  everything  was  so 
clean  and  wore  such  a  delightful  air  of  homely  comfort. 

Sheila  was  tidying  away  the  tub  and  the  black  bottle 
and  all  the  signs  of  her  nursing  with  neat  precision. 
She  came  back  to  the  arm-chair  and,  looking  at  the 
bandaged  foot,  shook  her  head. 

"It  is  not  walking  that  you  will  be  for  many  days," 
she  said. 

"Many  days!"  exclaimed  Angela.  "But  I  must 
get  back  to  Glenmoira.     I  am  staying  there." 

"  It  is  not  back  at  all  that  you  will  be  getting.  The 
foot  is  a  very  bad  foot  whatever."  Sheila  spoke 
gently,  but  with  conviction. 

"But  I  must  get  back,"  protested  Angela.  "I 
could  drive,  could  n't  I?  They  would  send  a  carriage 
for  me,  I  am  sure." 

"  There  is  never  a  road  where  a  carriage  could  drive 
up  the  glen ;  and  it  is  far  across  the  hill  to  Glenmoira. 
A  man  could  not  carry  you  whatever ;  and  you  cannot 
ride,  because  it  would  not  be  goot  for  the  foot." 

A  shadow  darkened  the  window,  and  the  next 
minute  there  was  a  low  knock  at  the  door. 

Sheila  went  to  open  it,  and  when  Angela  heard 
Jock's  voice  speaking  to  her,  she  cried  out: 

"You  may  come  in.  The  doctoring  is  all  over,  and 
Sheila  has  taken  nearly  all  the  pain  away." 

Jock  hesitated  on  the  threshold. 

"Do  come  and  tell  me  what  I  am  to  do!"  pleaded 
Angela.     "  Sheila  says  that  I  shall  not  be  able  to  walk 


88  Bawbee  Jock 

for  days,  and  that  no  carriage  can  get  up  the  glen,  and 
that  I  can't  ride  and —  What  am  I  to  do?  How 
am  I  to  get  back  to  Glenmoira?" 

Jock  came  and  stood  beside  her,  and  listened  to  all 
she  had  to  say  with  that  anxious  furrow  again  on  his 
brow.     Then  he  spoke  to  Sheila  in  Gaelic. 

"I  am  afraid  it  is  a  very  bad  sprain,"  he  said. 
"  Sheila  says  you  must  not  put  your  foot  to  the  ground, 
or  shake  it,  or  jolt  it  in  any  way,  else  it  may  give  you 
a  lot  of  trouble.  And  it  is  true,"  he  added,  "there  is 
no  road  over  the  hill.  And  it  would  be  dreadfully 
rough  going  for  you  to  try  to  ride." 

Angela  looked  again  round  the  dear  little  kitchen 
and  then  at  Sheila's  sweet  face  framed  in  its  white 
mutch  and  then  at  Jock. 

"What  do  you  wish  me  to  do? — stay  here?"  she 
asked.  She  spoke  with  a  pretty  appeal  of  confidence 
in  his  judgment. 

"I  think — I  am  afraid  you  will  have  to  stay  here," 
he  said  earnestly.  "Sheila  will  take  great  care  of  you, 
I  know  she  can.  She  is  my  housekeeper,  you  know. 
She  and  Donald  live  up  here  because  of  his  work 
during  the  shooting- time;  but  she  keeps  house  for 
me  all  the  rest  of  the  year." 

Angela  laughed. 

"What  fun  it  would  be!"  she  exclaimed. 

"I  would  try  to  find  some  other  way  out  of  the 
difficulty  if  I  was  n't  quite  siu-e  that  Sheila  could 
make  you  comfortable,"  continued  Jock,  still  anxious. 
"She  was  a  servant  with  us  at  Glenmoira  before  she 
married  Donald.  She  would  know  quite  well  how  to 
look  after  you." 

"I  am  sure  she  would,"  answered  Angela  quickly. 


An  Accident  in  the  Glen  89 

"  It  is  not  that  I  mind  for  myself.  I  should  love  to 
stay  in  this  sweet  little  cottage;  but  it  would  give  so 
much  trouble." 

A  great  relief  appeared  on  Jock's  face. 

"Sheila  won't  think  anything  a  trouble,"  he  an- 
swered confidently.  "She  would  love  to  have  you — 
wouldn't  you,  Sheila?"  And  the  fond  look  in  the 
woman's  eyes,  as  she  answered  her  young  master's 
question,  almost  brought  the  tears  to  Angela's. 

"I  can  arrange  for  Donald  to  put  up  with  one  of 
the  other  gillies,"  said  Jock,  "and  then  you  won't  be 
bothered  with  any  one  coming  in  and  out;  and — you 
would  like  me  to  go  back  to  Glenmoira  and  explain, 
would  n't  you?  It  would  be  better  than  sending 
word." 

"You  think  of  everything,"  said  Angela  gratefully. 
"  How  much  trouble  I  am  giving  you !    I  am  so  sorry." 

"It  is  no  trouble.  I — "  He  paused.  "Is  there 
anything  you  would  like  them  to  send  over?  I  could 
take  a  note,  or  a  message." 

Angela  considered. 

"  If  I  am  to  stay  here  for  a  few  days,  I  should  want 
some  things,  should  n't  I?  I  could  write  a  note  to 
Ant — "  She  caught  herself  up.  "Whom  shall  I 
send  it  to?  Dolly  is  so  vague !  I  think  I  will  write  to 
Flossie.  He  would  understand.  He  is  like  ten  great- 
grandmothers  rolled  into  one.  But  I  have  n't  got 
any  paper  to  write  with.  Oh  yes,  I  have."  She 
took  a  letter  out  of  her  pocket.  "  There  's  a  half -sheet 
here." 

Jock  gave  her  a  pencil ;  and  she  scribbled  hastily  for 
a  few  minutes  and  then  folded  up  her  note  tightly  into 
a  small  square  and  gave  it  to  him.     As  he  put  it  into 


90  Bawbee  Jock 

his  pocket,  his  hand  came  in  contact  with  the  little 
brown  boot,  and  he  felt  horribly  guilty  and  deceitful 
for  not  telling  her  that  it  was  there;  but  he  would  not 
have  parted  with  that  little  brown  boot  for  anything 
in  the  world. 

"Perhaps  I  had  better  say  good-bye  and  go,"  he 
said,  "or  else  they  will  be  getting  anxious.  May  I — 
come  over  to-morrow  to  ask  how  you  are  getting  on? " 

"All  these  miles  across  the  hills  from  your  clachan," 
said  Angela,  opening  her  eyes  wide. 

"It  is  not  really  far;  this  is  almost  half-way  to  it. 
And  even  if  it  was  not,  I — "  He  stopped.  "  May 
I  come?"  he  concluded  humbly. 

Angela  lowered  her  eyes. 

"It  would  be  kind  of  you  to  come.  Perhaps — I 
might  feel  rather  frightened  and  lonely  here!"  And 
the  dimple  showed  at  the  comer  of  her  mouth. 

"There  isn't  a  creature  in  the  glen  that  would 
htirt  you,"  answered  Jock,  "and  I  will  be  just  over 
the  hill  there." 

"Do  you  think  if  I  called  very  loud  you  would 
hear?" 

Then  he  saw  the  dimple,  and  knew  that  she  was 
playing  with  her  words;  and  that  sudden,  swift  smile 
lit  up  his  face. 

"I  think  I  would,"  he  said. 

They  were  alone,  for  Sheila  had  gone  to  milk  her 
little  Highland  cow,  which  had  played  such  an  im- 
portant part  in  the  day's  adventiire.  There  was  no 
one  to  look  on  and  listen,  except  the  round-faced 
clock  on  the  wall. 

Angela  thanked  him  very  prettily  for  having  found 
her  and  taken  such  care  of  her. 


An  Accident  in  the  Glen  91 

"But  you  said  it  was  not  you  who  found  me,"  she 
added,  correcting  herself.  "Where  is  your  dog?  It 
was  he,  was  n't  it?" 

Jock  went  to  the  door  and  let  in  a  big  deerhound, 
who  had  been  sitting  patiently  waiting  on  the  path 
outside.  He  said  something  to  the  dog,  who  went  up 
to  Angela's  chair,  and  she  stroked  his  head. 

"Why  did  I  never  see  him  before?"  she  said.  "He 
was  not  with  you  at  Glenmoira." 

"No,  he  was  not  with  me.  I  found  him  on  the 
moor  this  afternoon,"  said  Jock.  "They  have  won- 
derful instincts,  these  deerhounds.  I  believe  he 
knew  I  was  coming  home  to-day,  and  he  had  come  to 
meet  me." 

"What  is  his  name?"  asked  Angela. 

"Dileas.     It  means  'Faithful'  in  Gaelic." 

Angela  tried  to  pronounce  the  name  after  him. 

"You  must  pronounce  the  D  like  a  /,"  said  Jock — 
"Jeelus." 

Angela  tried  again  and  succeeded  better. 

"He  looks  so  wise.  It  was  very  clever  of  him  to 
find  me;  I  suppose  he  smelt  me  out,"  she  said. 

The  dog  turned  his  head  and  looked  up  at  his 
master,  and  Jock  patted  him. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that.  His  nose  is  n't  much 
good  to  him.  These  deerhounds  run  by  sight,  not 
scent ;  but  I  don't  use  him  for  sport.  He  is  my  faith- 
ful companion — a  rare  good  one.  Your  name  suits 
you,  old  boy,  does  n't  it?"  And  Jock  took  the  dog's 
ear  and  fondled  it  caressingly.  He  stooped  down  and 
whispered  something  in  Gaelic,  and  Dileas  raised  his 
big  grey  paw  and  laid  it  on  Angela's  lap  and  gazed  at 
her  mournfully  with  his  tragic  eyes. 


92  Bawbee  Jock 

"Don't  look  so  sad!"  she  said;  and  with  her  qmck, 
pretty  impulsiveness  she  put  her  arms  round  Dileas's 
neck  and  kissed  his  nose.  "That  is  for  finding  me.  I 
am  very  grateful.     Thank  you,"  she  said. 

Angela  slept  that  night  in  a  tiny  room  in  a  box- 
bed.  The  sheets  smelt  of  heather  and  roid  and  all 
the  sweet  clean  things  which  they  had  lain  on  when 
they  were  bleaching  on  the  hillside.  Through  the 
open  window  she  heard  the  murmur  of  the  stream, 
and  sometimes  the  cheep  of  a  sleepy  bird  roosting  in 
the  thatched  roof  above  her  head.  It  was  all  so 
strange  and  quiet  and  peaceful ;  so  near  to  Nature,  so 
far  away  from  the  fret  and  clamour  of  life.  And 
woven  into  her  half-dreaming  fancies  came  back  the 
haunting  echo  of  old  Donald's  prophetic  greeting. 
She  fell  asleep,  murmuring  the  words  to  herself: 

"It  is  to  the  glens  that  you  have  come,  and  it  is 
in  the  glens  that  you  will  stay;  and  it  is  our  chief, 
Glenmoira  himself,  that  will  be  knowing  that  it  is 
true." 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  JEALOUS  GUARDIAN 

SHEILA  had  lit  her  fire,  and  cleaned  her  kitchen, 
and  milked  her  cow,  and  finished  a  variety  of 
other  domestic  duties  before  Angela  opened  her  eyes 
in  her  new  home  the  following  morning. 

Sheila  had  slipped  once  into  the  room  noiselessly  to 
see  if  her  guest  were  awake ;  but  she  was  not,  and  she 
had  bent  over  the  bed  and  gazed  for  some  minutes 
with  a  dreamy  tenderness  in  her  eyes  at  the  lovely 
childlike  face  which  lay  so  peacefully  on  the  white 
pillow. 

The  sense  of  prophetic  intuition,  so  inherent  in  the 
Highland  natiu-e,  was  more  finely  developed  in  Sheila 
than  in  Donald.  She  was  a  woman  of  a  higher  in- 
tellectual standard  than  the  old  gillie,  whom  she  had 
married  somewhat  late  in  life.  The  training  of  her 
healing  gift  had  given  her  a  power  of  understanding, 
of  inward  perception,  which  almost  amounted  to  an 
inspired  sense. 

That  day  of  Angela's  coming,  she  had  known  that 
something  was  going  to  happen  to  her  chief.  She  had 
been  sitting  at  her  cottage  door  waiting,  with  a  sweet 
confidence  and  certainty,  knowing  that  in  some  way 
she  was  to  be  the  means  of  giving  him  help;  and  as 
she  stood  looking  down  at  her  sleeping  charge,  she 

93 


94  Bawbee  Jock 

knew  that  under  her  humble  roof  she  was  sheltering  one 
who  was  very  near  to  the  heart  of  her  beloved  master. 

She  stood  for  some  minutes  watching,  and  then  she 
moved  noiselessly  about  the  room,  setting  it  in  order 
against  the  time  when  Angela  should  awake.  Sheila 
knew  the  ways  of  gentlefolk;  and  as  she  unpacked 
the  bag,  which  one  of  the  gillies  had  carried  across  the 
hill  from  Glenmoira  the  night  before,  the  pretty, 
dainty  trifles  she  foimd  inside  it  did  not  surprise  her 
as  they  would  have  done  any  of  the  other  cotters' 
wives  in  the  glen. 

When  Angela  did  at  last  awake,  she  found  a  cup  of 
tea  ready  for  her,  and  Sheila  helped  her  to  dress,  and 
re-bandaged  her  foot,  and  finally  settled  her  in  the  big 
arm-chair  beside  the  open  door,  for  it  was  a  lovely 
morning.  Then  she  drew  up  a  table  and  laid  the 
breakfast  upon  it. 

Angela  had  talked  all  the  time  she  was  being 
dressed,  and  had  learnt  the  meanings  of  a  great  many 
more  new  things. 

"I  think  it  would  be  perfectly  heavenly  to  live  in  a 
cottage  like  this,"  she  said.  "Nothing  but  the  hills 
and  the  heather  and  everything  that  is  good  and  sweet 
all  round  about  you!  I  should  never  tire  of  it.  Oh! 
what  are  you  pouring  into  that  funny  little  bowl?  It 
does  smell  nice!" 

"It  will  be  the  porridge,"  said  Sheila;  and  she  gave 
Angela  a  horn  spoon,  and  placed  the  bowl  on  the 
table  beside  her. 

Angela  made  a  hole  in  the  middle  of  the  porridge 
with  the  horn  spoon,  and  Sheila  jBlled  it  up  with 
cream.  Such  cream! — thick  and  yellow,  with  frothy 
bubbles  on  the  top. 


A  Jealous  Guardian  95 

"It  is  the  most  delicious  thing  I  ever  tasted,"  de- 
clared Angela.     "I  am  so  glad  I  sprained  my  ankle." 

Sheila  smiled  her  strange,  sweet,  enigmatical  smile, 
and  said  she  was  very  glad;  and  after  putting  every- 
thing near,  so  that  Angela  should  not  require  to  move, 
she  disappeared  to  some  back  premises  of  her  own  to 
churn  the  butter,  and  Angela  was  left  to  finish  her 
breakfast  alone. 

She  had  only  just  finished,  and  was  leaning  back  in 
the  old  chair,  with  a  restful  feeling  of  peace,  content 
to  sit  in  the  sunshine  and  dream  her  own  dreams  to 
the  music  of  the  larks  and  the  rippling  murmur  of  the 
water,  when  she  heard  a  crunching  step  on  the  path 
which  led  from  the  cottage  down  to  the  banks  of  the 
stream  below.  She  flushed  warmly,  and  caught  in  her 
breath. 

"No,"  she  murmured.  "He  walks  more  lightly 
than  that."  And  she  bent  to  look  through  the  open 
door. 

"Flossie!" 

Yes,  it  was  Flossie!  A  red  Connemara  cloak  was 
thrown  over  his  shoulder  and  he  carried  a  basket  from 
which  bulged  parcels  and  bundles  of  all  shapes  and 
sizes.  His  cap  was  very  much  on  the  back  of  his  head 
and  he  was  very  hot. 

"Oh,  Flossie,  Flossie,  how  funny  you  look!"  cried 
Angela.  "Like  little  Red  Riding  Hood  coming  to 
bring  her  grandmother  jam  and  tea  and " 

"v-ied  Riding  Hood  indeed!  A  nice  dance  you  *ve 
led  me,  miss." 

Flossie  put  down  the  basket  on  the  doorstep,  and 
taking  out  his  pocket-handkerchief,  passed  it  over  his 
face,  which  was  very  pink. 


96  Bawbee  Jock 

"Poor  Flossie!"  said  Angela.  "How  sweet  of  you 
to  come  and  look  for  me!  You  must  have  got  up 
dreadfully  early,  and  I  know  you  hate  that.  Come  in 
and  sit  down,  dear  Red  Riding  Hood.  There  is  a 
nice  wooden  stool  for  you  to  sit  on,  and  you  can  screw 
in  your  eye-glass  the  better  to  see  me  with.  The 
wolf  is  not  anywhere  near,  so  you  are  quite  safe." 

"I  'm  none  so  sure."  Flossie  put  his  nose  gingerly 
round  the  comer  of  the  door.  "  Where  's  that  brawny 
savage — that  red-haired  Heelander?  Where  's  Baw- 
bee Jock?" 

"He  's  not  a  savage,  and  he  has  not  red  hair,  and  he 
is  not  here — of  course  he  is  not  here.  So  you  may 
take  that  guardianly  look  off  your  face  at  once," 
answered  Angela  indignantly. 

"Well,  I  'm  glad  you  had  the  sense  to  send  him 
away,"  snapped  Flossie.  "Really,  Angela,  if  you  had 
not  me  to  look  after  you,  I  don't  know  what  would 
happen.  I  very  nearly  came  over  last  night  myself,  I 
was  so  fussed." 

"  But,  dear,  I  told  you  so  particularly  in  my  note  not 
to!"  remonstrated  Angela.  "I  should  have  been 
asleep  by  then,  and  it  would  have  been  so  unnecessary. 
I  told  you  I  was  quite  safe  and  all  right,  and — 
Where  did  you  get  that  Red  Riding  Hood  cloak  from? 
Is  it  for  me?" 

"Dolly  sent  it,"  said  Flossie;  "I  don't  know  why. 
I  suppose  she  thought  it  looked  comforting.  It- was 
beastly  hot  to  carry." 

"How  like  Dolly!"  said  Angela.  "I  hope  you 
have  n't  brought  any  food  in  that  basket,  because  I  'm 
living  on  the  fat  of  the  land.  Literally!  Look  at 
that  cream — what  there  is  left  of  it.     Is  n't  this  a 


A  Jealous  Guardian  97 

delicious  place?  I  think  I  was  so  clever  to  sprain  my 
ankle  and  find  it.  Have  you  seen  Sheila?  She  ex- 
actly fits  into  the  scene  and  makes  it  perfect." 

"If  you  mean  the  lady  in  a  nightcap,  whom  I 
surprised  turning  the  handle  of  a  butter-machine 
round  the  corner,  I  suppose  I  did."  Flossie  looked 
about  him  critically.  "Yes — it's  not  bad.  Quite 
good  of  its  kind.  The  sort  of  thing  you  'd  see  at 
Olympia  with  a  hand  up  pointing  to  the  'Model 
Highland  Cottage';  and — you'd  find  an  advertise- 
ment for  whiskey  inside."  He  deposited  the  cloak 
on  a  chair  and  drew  in  the  wooden  stool  and  sat 
down,  "How's  the  foot?"  He  glanced  at  Angela 
suspiciously.     "You  look  all  right." 

Angela  shook  her  head. 

"It 's  a  very  bad  sprain — a  dreadfully  bad  sprain. 
Sheila  says  it  will  be  ages  before  I  can  be  moved.  I 
did  not  say  too  much  about  it  in  my  note,  because  I 
was  afraid  you  would  come  hiurying  over;  but  it 
really  is  bad.  Thank  you  so  much  for  telling  An- 
toinette about  my  things.  I  thought  it  better  to  write 
to  you,  Antoinette  gets  so  ridiculously  excited  about 
nothing!" 

"It  was  just  as  well  you  did  send  the  note  to  me," 
answered  Flossie.  "I  've  got  a  piece  of  news  for  you 
that  you  may  not  quite  like.     Antoinette  's  bolted!" 

"Flossie!"     Angela  sat  up  and  stared. 

" Bolted ! "  repeated  Flossie.  "Not  with  the  spoons 
or  the  second  footman,  but — on  the  ground  of 
morals!" 

"Morals!  Flossie!  And  I  thought  she  was  so 
respectable." 

"  That 's  just  it.     She  's  kicked  up  the  devil  of  a  row 

7 


98  Bawbee  Jock 

because  of  her  respectability.  Dolly  told  me  to  tell 
you  the  story,  and  I  suppose  it 's  true,  as  she  got  it 
from  her  maid.     It 's  that  white-faced  fool  Hawkins." 

"Hawkins!"  echoed  Angela.     "And  Antoinette!" 

Flossie  wagged  his  head  solemnly. 

"Yes,  Hawkins!  It  seems  there  was  a  grand  flare- 
up  at  supper  last  night  in  the  servants'  hall.  I  '11  give 
you  the  story  as  I  heard  it.  I  suppose  you  know — I 
did  n't — that  in  strictly  aristocratic  establishments  it 
is  etiquette  for  the  upper-ten-below-stairs  to  retire 
from  the  servants'  hall  in  a  solemn  procession  before 
the  pudding  course.  They  leave  the  common  herd 
and  retreat  into  an  inner  sanctuary  called  The  Room ! 
— a  kind  of  Pugs'  Parlour  where  they  all  sit  round  and 
turn  up  their  noses  at  each  other  and  worry  the  most 
toothsome  of  the  bones  that  have  fallen  from  the 
rich  man's  table." 

"But  what  has  that  got  to  do  with  Antoinette's 
respectability?"  said  Angela. 

"  Don't  be  in  such  a  hiury.  I  'm  coming  to  that. 
Evening  dress  is  de  rigueur  in  Pugs'  Parlour,  and  Haw- 
kins fancies  himself  in  a  kilt!  Can't  you  see  him? 
Knock-kneed,  no  insteps,  and  shoulders  like  a  cham- 
pagne bottle.  Antoinette  objected  to  sitting  next  him 
on  the  grounds  that  he  wore  his  knees  out-of-doors. 
She  could  not  manger  her  pudding,  or  whatever  suc- 
culent morsel  she  was  enjoying  at  the  moment,  with 
such  an  immodest  spectacle  so  near.  If  his  knees  are 
the  same  colour  as  his  face,  I  don't  wonder  she  was 
put  off  her  feed. 

"Last  night  matters  reached  a  climax.  Hawkins 
had  got  a  little  extra  whiskey  inside  him,  I  suppose, 
and  took  to  swaggering  on  the  strength  of  it.     Dolly's 


A  Jealous  Guardian  99 

maid  affirms  that  he  was  n't  drunk,  only  a  little 
chatty.  Anyhow,  he  climbed  on  to  the  table  and — 
tried  to  dance  a  reel.  My  dear!  What  are  you  roll- 
ing about  like  that  for?     Have  you  got  a  pain?" 

"Yes,"  said  Angela  faintly — "a  pain  just  like  what 
poor  Bawbee  Jock  had  when  you  danced  yovir  reel  on 
the  box-room  table." 

"Comparisons  are  invidious,  and  the  circumstances 
were  quite  different,"  said  Flossie.  "I  had  all  my 
own  clothes  on,  and  the  Lord  knows  what  Hawkins 
had!  Precious  little,  I  expect;  for  he  borrowed  his 
kilt  from  a  genuine  Scotchy,  and  you  may  bet  your 
boots  that  the  stingy  beggar  would  n't  give  him  a  rag 
more  than  he  could  help." 

"Oh,  Flossie!  surely " 

Flossie  held  up  his  hand. 

"  My  dear,  we  won't  go  into  particulars.  I  Ve 
always  tried  to  bring  you  up  nicely;  but  it 's  a  well- 
known  fact,  and  the  reason  is  one  of  personal  economy, 
that  you  can't  take  the  breeks  off  a  Heelander.  It 's 
a  national  proverb.  We  will  draw  a  veil  over  the 
scene  after  that.  I  don't  know  whether  Hawkins  was 
allowed  to  dance  his  reel  or  not." 

"And  then  what  happened?  "  said  Angela.  "  Don't 
make  me  laugh  any  more,  Flossie.  It 's  so  exhaust- 
ing." 

"Well,  there  was  a  nice  row  in  Pugs'  Parlour.  The 
upshot  was  that  Antoinette  went  and  packed  her 
boxes  there  and  then,  and  departed  in  a  state  of 
virtuous  apoplexy.  She  does  n't  intend  to  come  back 
either.  She  left  an  address  for  you  to  send  her  her 
wages." 

"I  am  very  glad  she  has  gone,"  said  Angela. 


loo  Bawbee  Jock 

Flossie  looked  at  her  sharply. 

"What  does  that  mean?  Are  you  meditating  a  re- 
tirement from  the  world?"  He  twisted  himself 
round  on  his  stool.  "If  you  are,  you  'd  better  take 
into  consideration  the  fact  that  you  can't  do  your  own 
hair.  That  thing  you  've  got  stuck  on  at  the  back 
of  your  head  is  more  like  a  meringue  than  anything 
else." 

But  Angela  did  not  retort  indignantly,  as  he  had  ex- 
pected. She  was  gazing  out  through  the  open  door, 
and  there  was  a  dreamy,  far-away  look  in  her  eyes. 

"  It  is  to  the  glens  that  you  have  come,  and  it  is  in 
the  glens  that  you  wiU  stay." 

The  old  gillie's  words  seemed  to  have  taken  hold  of 
her  imagination  with  a  fateful  persistency. 

Flossie  saw  the  look;  for  nothing  that  Angela  did 
was  ever  lost  upon  him,  and  something  sharp  and 
unexpected  struck  a  pang  to  his  heart  as  though  a 
knife  had  been  driven  into  it.  It  was  the  feeling  that 
a  mother  might  agonise  through  when  she  realises 
for  the  first  time  that  a  day  may  come  when  her 
darling  will  be  stolen  from  her;  or  that  of  a  kind  and 
loving  gardener,  who  has  lavished  his  care  on  a  sweet, 
rare  flower,  and  when  he  has  trained  it  to  perfection, 
and  it  is  unfolding  its  petals  to  show  the  beauty  of 
its  gratitude,  a  stranger's  hand  snatches  it  away  to 
bloom  in  another  soil. 

For  this  quaint,  frivolous,  and  fraudulently  tender- 
hearted little  man  loved  Angela  from  the  depths  of  his 
soul.  From  the  time  when  she  had  been  given,  a 
helpless  child,  into  his  care,  he  had  guarded  her  with 
the  vigilance  of  a  watch-dog  and  the  tenderness  of  a 
mother.     And  because  he  had  been  taken  by  surprise, 


A  Jealous  Guardian  loi 

and  was  strangely  afraid,  he  did  what  a  man  generally 
does  under  such  circumstances,  he  began  to  scold. 
He  planted  his  plump  hands  firmly,  one  on  each  knee, 
and  said  in  a  voice  which  made  Angela  jump,  and 
hastily  remove  the  telltale  look  of  dreaminess  from 
her  eyes: 

"Angela!  Answer  me!  Is  that  foot  really  bad 
enough  to  keep  you  laid  up  here;  or  is  it  because  you 
have  taken  a  fancy  to — the  place  that  you  're  pre- 
tending that  you  can't  leave  it?" 

"Oh  no,  it  is  not  pretence — really,  Flossie,  it  is  not. 
And  I  never  tell  fibs — you  know  I  don't!"  protested 
Angela  earnestly.  "The  pain  was  simply  excruciat- 
ing at  first.  I  fainted;  and  if — if  Bawbee  Jock  had 
not  carried  me  very,  very  carefully,  I  would  have  gone 
on  fainting!" 

"  Carried  you,  did  he?  The  beggar ! "  Flossie  fixed 
her  with  wrathful  eyes.     "How  far?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Angela.  "Sometimes  it 
seemed  far,  and — sometimes  it  did  n't." 

"  Himiph ! "  grunted  Flossie.  "  How  long  does  that 
old  woman  in  the  nightcap  say  you  will  have  to  stay 
here?" 

' '  Perhaps  a  week — perhaps  longer. ' '  Angela  pointed 
to  the  swathed  heap  on  the  cushion  of  the  chair 
opposite.  "If  you  only  saw  my  foot,  Flossie,  you 
would  be  more  sorry  than  cross.  You  can  see  the 
outside,  anyhow.     It 's  like  an  old  gouty  man's." 

"How  do  I  know  what's  underneath  those  inno- 
cent-looking bandages?"  Flossie  glanced  round  the 
kitchen.  "And  you  can't  sit  in  this  stuffy  little  hole 
for  a  week.  We  must  get  you  out."  He  felt  his 
arms.     "  I  might  be  able  to  carry  you  if " 


102  Bawbee  Jock 

"Oh  no,  you  could  not,"  interposed  Angela 
quickly.  "I  mean — it  would  not  be  good  for  you! 
I  'm  heavier  than  I  look."  She  blushed  rosy  red, 
much  to  her  annoyance,  and  added,  stammering  con- 
fusedly: "B-Bawbee  Jock  said  something  about  com- 
ing over  to  call — to  ask  how  my  foot  was ;  and — and  he 
would  carry  me.     He  knows  how  to  do  it,  you  see!" 

"The  devil  he  does!"  It  was  the  last  straw,  and 
Flossie  exploded  violently.  "Now  look  here,  An- 
gela! Please  to  understand  this,  that  I  will  not  have 
you  living  up  here  alone — for  that  old  woman  in  the 
nightcap  does  n't  count — and  allow  that  fellow  to  be 
hanging  about,  sitting  in  your  pocket  all  day  long. 
I  won't,  and  that 's  flat!" 

"He's  too  big  to  sit  in  my  pocket,"  murmured 
Angela. 

"Don't  be  flippant!  You  know  quite  well  what  I 
mean.  Do  you  think  I  've  moiled  and  toiled  away  the 
best  years  of  my  life  to  keep  you  unspotted  from  the 
world,  to  let  you  get  into  a  mess  now?  No  fear! 
Where  would  your  reputation  be  at  the  end  of  three 
days?     I  would  n't  give  a  cock's  feather  for  it." 

Angela  pouted. 

"I  don't  see  how  any  one  can  say  horrid  things 
about  me,  if  they  can't  see  me." 

"See  you!"  Flossie  jerked  his  thumb  over  his 
shoulder  in  the  direction  whence  he  had  come.  "Do 
you  think  that  lot  over  there  won't  be  on  the  look- 
out for  some  nice  little  tit-bit?  They  '11  be  watching 
you  like  a  set  of  Peeping  Toms  —  the  Devereux 
woman!  and  that  hoary-headed  sinner  Leach!  And 
Lady  Di  coming  it  over  me  with  the  duties  of  a 
mother!     No!     The  safe  thing  to  do  is  to  keep  you  in 


A  Jealous  Guardian  103 

the  public  eye.  I  shall  tell  Dolly  that  you  must  n't 
be  left  alone.  She  does  n't  like  being  left  alone  her- 
self, so  she  '11  understand.  I  '11  arrange  that  there  's 
always  something  going  on.  They  're  to  come  over 
to  cheer  you  up.  Ministering  angels  scattering 
crumbs  of  kindness!  I  know  them.  They  '11  all  be 
screaming  to  come.  We  '11  have  picnics  and  tea- 
parties,  and  comings  and  goings.  I  shall  jolly  well 
see  that  you  are  not  left  alone,  my  dear." 

"Oh,  Flossie!  and  I  thought  I  was  going  to  have 
such  a  delightful,  quiet,  peaceful  time,  away  from  all 
the  silly  conventional  things  that  don't  mean  any- 
thing, and  live  with  the  big  things  that  do:  the  hills 
and  the  moors,  and  the  great  open  sky,  and " 

"Bawbee  Jock,"  growled  Flossie,  like  an  angry 
mastiff.     ' '  Not  if  I  know  it ! " 

"  But  you  can't  keep  him  away  altogether.  If  I  am 
to  be  carried  out  on  to  the  heather,  he  must  carry 
me!"  Angela's  mouth  tightened  and  her  eyes  looked 
mutinous.  "I  mean  it,  Flossie!  I  won't  allow  any 
one  else  to  carry  me  except — "  and  she  nodded 
defiantly  at  him. 

"Well,  I  '11  give  in  so  far,"  said  Flossie  grudgingly. 
"But  I  '11  take  care  to  be  on  the  spot,  to  see  how  he 
does  it.  He  's  to  be  a  kind  of  body-snatcher — no- 
thing more.  Great  strong  beast! — if  I  had  his 
muscle  I  wotdd  n't  let  him  put  a  finger  on  you." 

"No,  dear,  I  know  you  wouldn't,"  said  Angela 
soothingly :  having  gained  her  point,  she  was  generous. 
"And  you  would  have  carried  me  beautifully,  I  am 
sure;  but  it  is  as  well  not  to  run  any  risks,  is  n't  it?" 

Flossie  mumbled  something  unintelligible. 

"Very  well,  I  shall  bring  over  a  large  party  this 


104  Bawbee  Jock 

afternoon.  And  we  '11  stay  as  long  as  we  can,  and  he 
can  carry  you  out — to  some  place  that  I  shall  choose 
myself;  and  I  '11  see  him  safely  off  the  premises  before 
I  leave  you." 

Angela  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  she  said 
gently: 

"Flossie,  why  are  you  fussing  so?  You  never 
fussed  like  this — before." 

"Because — because  I  'm  in  a  beastly  fimk,  I  sup- 
pose," burst  out  Flossie.  He  took  her  hand  and 
patted  it,  and  the  tears  brimmed  up  to  Angela's  eyes, 
for  he  showed  his  affection  so  seldom  outwardly. 

"Don't  worry,  Flossie,"  she  said  softly.  "I  shall 
be  very  good,  and  do  just  what  you  say  I  am  to  do. 
You  always  know  best." 

There  was  silence  for  quite  a  long  time  after  that. 
Then  she  saw  his  face  change  suddenly,  and  his  eyes 
began  to  twinkle. 

"  Beauty  's  gone,"  he  said.  "  Did  you  know  he  was 
going?     It  seemed  rather  sudden." 

Angela  had  the  grace  to  blush. 

"  I  did  not  think  he  would  really  go  away,"  she  said. 

"Oh!  you  thought  he  would  sit  down  and  grump, 
and  make  you  feel  uncomfortable.  No!  Poor 
Beauty!  he 's  hard  hit.  It  was  really  you.  It 
was  n't " 

"I  could  not  help  it,"  interrupted  Angela  quickly. 

Just  then  Sheila  came  in,  carrying  the  butter  she 
had  been  churning,  in  a  blue  basin.  Angela  intro- 
duced her  to  Flossie,  and  he  fell  in  love  with  her,  as 
she  knew  he  would,  and  paid  her  charming  compli- 
ments about  her  cottage  and  everything  connected 
with  it,  and  stayed  for  the  best  part  of  the  morning. 


A  Jealous  Guardian  105 

As  he  rose  to  go,  he  gave  a  poke  with  his  stick  to 
the  basket  which  he  had  brought  with  him. 

"You'll  find  some  books  and  papers  and  your 
letters  in  there,  and  a  few  other  trifles  to  keep 
you  amused  until  some  of  us  turn  up  later  on,"  he 
said.  "Now,  remember,  if  I  find  that — that  red- 
headed  " 

"Flossie!" 

"Well,  that  Bawbee  Jock  here  before  me,  I  shall  be 
extremely  annoyed.  And  I  '11  let  him  see  that  I  am, 
so  that  he  '11  know  not  to  do  it  again." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

heart's  confession 

pvURING  the  homeward  walk  Flossie  was  conscious 
of  a  depression  which  he  could  not  shake  off. 

"It 's  coming — I  feel  it  in  my  bones  that  it 's  com- 
ing," he  soliloquised  as  he  went  along.  "Of  course  I 
knew  it  must  come  some  time,  but  that  does  n't  make 
it  any  easier  once  it 's  there.  I  'm  sure  I  tried  to  put 
her  ojff  from  the  first.  Perhaps  that  was  the  mistake. 
She  was  always  given  to  taking  odd  fancies.  From 
the  days  when  she  was  in  her  perambulator  she  'd 
sooner  have  kissed  a  chimney-sweep  than  a  duke.  I 
beheve  she  liked  his  dirty  face." 

When  he  had  mounted  to  the  top  of  the  long  ridge 
of  moor,  which  ran  east  and  west,  and  was  a  kind  of 
vantage-ground  from  which  he  could  view  the  scene 
on  every  side,  he  halted,  and  revolved  slowly,  until 
his  gaze  came  back  to  the  place  he  had  started  from. 

"A  fine  inheritance!"  he  murmured.  "And  he's 
a  chief — a  kind  of  barbaric  royalty."  He  heaved  a 
deep  sigh,  which  came  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart. 
"The  place  has  a  charm,  too.  It  will  claim  her,  and 
she  '11  answer  to  the  call  of  it.  She  '11  never  be  my 
little  girl  again,  and  God  knows  what  I  'm  to  do  with- 
out her."  He  swished  off  the  top  of  a  bracken  with 
his  stick.     "Yes,  it 's  coming — I  feel  it  in  my  bones; 

1 06 


Heart's  Confession  107 

but  as  long  as  she  's  up  there  alone  in  that  God- 
forsaken place  I  won't  have  him  hanging  about  her 
morning,  noon,  and  night,  to  set  all  those  infernal 
tongues  clacking — I  *11  be  shot  if  I  will!"  And  he 
went  on  his  way  with  a  sad  heart,  and  a  ferocity  of 
expression  which  sat  quaintly  on  his  round  pink  face. 

Angela  bore  her  disappointment  philosophically, 
but  it  was  a  disappointment  all  the  same.  It  was 
only  the  early  part  of  the  mornings  which  she  was 
allowed  to  have  to  herself;  but  as  Flossie  provided  her 
with  a  constant  supply  of  books,  she  enjoyed  those 
morning  hours  with  a  quiet  delight  which  was  one  of 
the  pecvdiarities  of  her  adaptable  nature. 

Sheila  would  drag  the  big  arm-chair  out  into  the 
sunshine  beside  the  kitchen  door,  and  with  the  help  of 
a  stick  and  Sheila's  arm  she  would  hobble  out  to  it, 
and  with  her  foot  propped  up  on  another  chair,  would 
bask  in  the  warmth,  and  read,  or  lie  idly  thinking  and 
dreaming  many  dreams.  No  jarring  sounds  broke 
the  peace  of  those  still  hours.  The  hum  of  the  bees 
in  the  heather  and  the  bubble  and  splash  of  the  run- 
ning water  and  the  carolling  of  the  larks  were  the 
only  sounds  audible. 

Sheila  always  brought  her  her  dinner  out  to  the 
arm-chair;  and  Angela  soon  discovered  that  Sheila 
was  a  very  good  cook.  She  would  have  shamed  a  gay 
young  grouse  out  of  all  knowledge  of  living  vanity, 
could  he  have  seen  himself  sitting  on  a  dish  and  smelt 
the  deHcious  flavour  which  pervaded  the  atmosphere 
when  the  cover  was  removed. 

Sheila  had  smiled  when  Angela  had  praised  her 
cooking. 

"  It  is  for  the  master  himself  that  I  must  cook,"  she 


io8  Bawbee  Jock 

had  answered;  and  Angela  had  laughed,  and  said  she 
thought  the  master  was  very  much  to  be  envied. 

But  when  the  Ministering  Angels,  as  Flossie  called 
them,  began  to  appear,  the  happy  peace  and  sim- 
plicity vanished.  The  Fuzzy-Buzzy  girls  tried  her 
the  most  sorely,  because  she  never  felt  safe  from  their 
ministrations.  They  fell  in  love  with  Sheila  and  her 
cottage,  and  played  in  it  the  way  they  would  have 
played  in  a  doll's  house,  learning  to  bake  oatcakes  and 
to  chum  butter.  Sheila  tolerated  them,  putting  to 
rights  the  mess  which  they  littered  about  in  her  spot- 
less kitchen  with  wonderful  patience. 

Lady  Di  and  Dolly  and  some  of  the  men  would 
straggle  in  about  tea-time,  and  there  was  always  a 
conflict  of  opinion  as  to  where  the  camp  was  to  be 
pitched.  The  tea-hour  was  heralded  by  the  appear- 
ance of  piles  of  hampers  and  tea-baskets,  and  Angela 
would  sit  and  watch  the  preparations. 

"Lookers-on  certainly  do  see  most  of  the  game," 
she  said  to  Flossie  one  day.  But  she  did  not  tell 
him,  for  it  might  have  hurt  his  feelings,  that  nothing 
amused  her  so  much  as  to  watch  Flossie  himself  and 
the  attitude  he  had  taken  up  towards  poor  Jock.  The 
latter  was  given  very  plainly  to  understand  exactly 
how  much  and  how  little  was  desired  of  him. 

Punctually  at  four  o'clock  Angela  would  see,  and 
she  watched  for  them — she  never  deceived  herself  for 
a  moment  as  to  that — two  figures  coming  over  the 
hill.  They  were  Jock  and  Dileas,  the  deerhound, 
faithful  to  his  name,  shadowing  his  master  wherever 
he  went.  But  Flossie,  whether  he  was  shooting,  or 
whatever  else  he  was  doing,  was  always  on  the  spot 
ten  minutes  sooner  than  Jock,  and  Jock  knew  that; 


Heart's  Confession  109 

and  although  he  was  hopelessly  in  love,  he  was  too 
much  of  a  gentleman  to  try  to  circimivent  Flossie's 
vigilance. 

Jock  lived  for  that  one  blessed  bit  of  the  day  when 
he  was  allowed  to  carry  Angela  from  the  arm-chair, 
outside  the  cottage  door,  to  whatever  place  the  Min- 
istering Angels  had  chosen  for  their  camping-ground. 
Even  although  Flossie  was  always  at  his  heels,  like  a 
terrier  after  a  huge  mastiff,  no  one  could  tear  from  him 
those  treasured  moments  when  he  actually  held  her 
in  his  arms;  and  it  filled  him  with  a  kind  of  wild 
ecstasy  of  pride  to  know  that  she  would  not  allow 
any  one  else  to  carry  her.  To  officious  suggestions  of 
extempore  chairs,  and  queen's-cushions,  and  such 
like,  she  would  laugh  and  shake  her  head  and  say, 
"  No !     I  won't  trust  any  of  them." 

As  they  were  starting,  just  as  Jock  was  lifting  her, 
she  would  put  back  the  hood  of  Dolly's  red  Con- 
nemara  cloak  and  whisper,  so  that  even  Flossie  could 
not  hear: 

"Is  it  far  away  to-day?  or  is  it  quite  near?" 

If  it  was  far  away,  Jock  would  say  it  was,  with  great 
satisfaction;  and  if  it  was  near,  he  would  say,  "No; 
but  it  is  a  rough  bit  of  ground,  and  I  will  have  to  go 
very  slowly" — which  meant  finding  stones  where 
there  were  none,  and  altogether  behaving  in  such  an 
erratic  manner  that  Flossie  would  call  out  from  close 
behind:  "Hi!  what  are  you  doing  there? — staggering 
about  like  a  drunk  policeman.  Stick  to  the  path, 
can't  you?" 

Then  Angela  would  laugh  softly;  and  Jock  knew 
that  she  knew  that  he  had  been  found  out. 

So  the  days  passed,  and  they  were  happy  days  to 


I  lo  Bawbee  Jock 

Angela,  in  spite  of,  or  perhaps  because  of,  the  jars 
and  friction  which  gave  zest  to  the  pleasures.  It  was 
'glorious  weather,  still  and  warm;  the  mornings  and 
evenings  shadowed  by  a  pearly  mist,  which  lent  a 
glamorous  charm  to  the  wild  glen  and  the  grandeur  of 
the  hills  beyond. 

If  Jock  felt  inclined  to  kick  against  the  pricks  of 
destiny,  he  did  not  show  it,  but  bore  himself  on  all 
occasions  with  chivalrous  dignity.  And  Flossie  lost 
his  fears. 

But  inwardly  Jock  was  neither  calm  nor  resigned. 
Sometimes  he  felt  it  was  more  than  he  could  bear — 
to  be  near  her  and  yet  to  be  kept  at  a  distance.  On 
more  than  one  occasion,  when  he  had  done  what 
Flossie  called  his  first  turn  at  "body-snatching,"  he 
would  absent  himself  on  some  excuse  of  business,  and 
only  return  to  the  picnicking  party  when  it  was  time 
to  carry  Angela  back  to  the  cottage. 

When  he  went  away,  he  always  left  Dileas  on  guard 
behind  him.  It  was  done  quite  unostentatiously; 
even  Flossie  was  deceived,  for  Jock  spoke  to  the  dog 
in  GaeHc,  and  therefore  no  one  knew  that  Dileas  was 
being  left  on  trust  for  his  master.  Dileas  did  not 
like  it.  He  looked  at  Jock  pleadingly  with  his  mourn- 
ful eyes ;  but  Jock  had  only  to  whisper  something  in  his 
ear,  and  the  old  hound  would  lie  down  beside  Angela 
on  the  heather,  and  no  blandishments  or  offered 
dainties  or  any  sort  of  bribery  would  tempt  him  from 
her  side  until  Jock  came  back  and  relieved  him  from 
his  guard. 

Then  a  day  arrived  when  Jock,  crossing  the  hill  on 
his  daily  errand,  came  to  the  spot  where  he  invariably 
paused  to  look  down  at  the  little  whitewashed  cot- 


Heart's  Confession  iii 

tage  nestling  in  the  glen  below.  He  could  always  see 
Angela  from  there,  because  of  the  red  Connemara 
cloak.  If  it  was  not  on  her  shoulders,  it  was  hang- 
ing over  the  back  of  the  chair.  That  day  no  scarlet 
speck  caught  his  eye;  and  his  heart  gave  a  great 
bound  of  fear,  and  then  seemed  to  stand  still. 

What  had  happened?  She  had  always  been  there, 
waiting ;  ready  for  him  with  a  smile,  and  some  pretty, 
gay  greeting  on  her  lips.  What  did  it  mean?  The 
faint  sound  of  voices  floated  up  to  him,  for  sounds  rose 
easily  on  the  still  air;  and  he  saw  that  among  the  rocks 
and  broken  ground  by  the  banks  of  the  stream  figures 
were  moving,  and  the  red  cloak  was  amongst  them. 
It  was  not  moving;  it  was  stationary,  enthroned  on  a 
clump  of  heather. 

Jock  sat  down  on  the  bank,  and  Dileas  came  and 
laid  his  head  on  his  knee  and  gazed  up  at  him  with 
mute  sympathy.  He  knew  that  his  master  was  in 
trouble. 

Jock  put  his  arm  round  the  old  deerhound's  neck. 

"She  does  n't  want  me  any  more,"  he  said.  "She 
can  walk  alone  now."  And  there  was  a  break  in  his 
voice,  for  he  spoke  the  words  aloud;  and  Dileas 
drooped  his  tail  sorrowfully.  "Yes,  you  know  all 
about  it,  old  boy — don't  you?"  Jock  looked  at 
Dileas's  nose.  "She  kissed  you! — lucky  dog!  You 
don't  know  what  a  lucky  dog  you  are." 

Dileas  wagged  his  tail  and  made  a  step  suggestive 
of  moving  on;  but  Jock  shook  his  head. 

"No,  we  won't  go  down — not  for  a  while,  anyhow. 
I  would  not  be  a  bit  nearer  to  her  there  than  I  am 
here." 

And  so  they  sat  on  together,  these  two,  on  the  hill- 


112  Bawbee  Jock 

side,  and  watched  and  waited — Jock  in  a  state  of 
stony  misery,  because  he  knew  that  this  was  the  be- 
ginning of  the  end,  and  that  now  that  she  was  free 
from  her  fetters  she  would  take  wing  like  a  bird,  and 
he  would  never  see  her  again. 

Strangely  enough,  it  was  the  apathetic  misery  which 
circumstances  forced  upon  him  that  was  the  means  of 
his  salvation.  He  sat  and  watched,  and  the  longer 
he  sat  the  more  convinced  he  became  that  he  could 
not  bear  the  ordeal  of  bidding  her  good-bye  before  all 
that  chattering  crowd  and  pretending  that  he  was 
glad  that  she  was  well  enough  to  walk  without  his 
help. 

"I  can't  do  it,  Dileas!"  he  repeated  at  intervals — 
"I  can't  do  it!" 

Then  the  time  came  for  the  picnickers  to  pack 
up  their  baskets  and  go  back  across  the  moor — to 
dinner,  and  bridge,  and  hot  rooms,  and  civilisation. 
They  trooped  off  in  twos  and  threes ;  the  servants  dis- 
appeared with  the  hill-ponies  which  had  brought  over 
the  hampers;  and  one  figure  lingered  behind  the 
others,  and  Jock  knew  that  it  was  Flossie;  then  it  also 
vanished  over  the  brow  of  the  hill,  and  the  red  cloak 
was  left  behind,  quite  alone. 

Jock  caught  in  his  breath  quick.  His  fingers  had 
been  fondling  the  old  hound's  ear,  and  he  pulled  it 
so  hard  that  Dileas  drew  himself  away  with  a  whimper 
from  the  loved  hand,  and  then  licked  it  apologetically. 

Jock  rose  to  his  feet.  He  hesitated  for  a  second, 
and  then  went  swinging  down  the  hillside,  straight 
to  the  spot  where  the  red  cloak  made  a  bright  patch 
of  coloiu*  against  the  green  bank. 

And  Angela  saw  him  coming,  and  her  cheeks  went 


Heart's  Confession  113 

first  pink  and  then  white;  and  he  came  and  stood  in 
front  of  her,  and  looked  at  her  and  said  nothing. 

She  saw,  and  understood.  She  knew  by  the  ex- 
pression in  his  eyes  that  he  had  passed  through  a  great 
conflict.  Her  woman's  instinct  told  her  that  he  had 
been  watching,  and  it  told  her  what  his  thoughts  had 
been;  and  a  yearning  pity  and  love  for  him  welled 
up  in  her  heart.  She  made  a  vow  with  herself  that 
she  would  not  allow  him  to  suffer;  that  she  could 
not;  that,  in  spite  of  conventionality  and  laws  and 
prejudices,  she  would  break  down  the  barrier  that 
separated  him  from  her. 

Jock  only  looked  his  misery.  The  knowledge  that 
she  could  do  without  him,  that  she  was  willing  to  do 
without  him,  was  as  present  with  him  here  beside 
her  as  it  had  been  on  the  hillside,  and  it  paralysed 
speech. 

"  How  am  I  to  let  him  understand  that  Flossie  made 
me  walk?"  said  Angela  to  herself — "that  he  said  it 
was  all  nonsense  for  me  to  pretend  that  I  could  not — 
and  made  Sheila  confess  that  it  would  be  good  for  me 
to  try  to  walk?" 

The  colour  came  back  fitfully  to  her  cheeks.  She 
felt  afraid — not  because  she  was  uncertain  of  him, 
but  because  she  knew  that  he  was  so  sincere  and 
honest,  and  she  wished  to  make  her  meaning  so  that 
he  wo\ild  understand.  She  looked  up  at  him,  and 
the  smile  of  welcome  he  loved  to  see  was  in  her  eyes, 
and  the  sweet  lips  were  quivering  a  little.  She  laid 
her  hand  on  the  heather  beside  her,  and  he  obeyed 
the  mute  request  and  sat  down.  He  looked  at  her  for 
one  moment,  with  a  dumb  passion  of  appeal  in  his 
eyes,  and  then  turned  his  head  quickly  aside,  and  sat 


114  Bawbee  Jock 

staring  straight  in  front  of  him  as  though  he  saw 
nothing. 

Angela  leant  forward,  with  her  elbow  resting  on  her 
knee,  and  her  chin  propped  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand, 
and  watched  him,  broodingly,  meditatively,  like  a 
mother  who  is  watching  her  child,  and  wondering 
which  will  be  the  best  and  most  loving  way  of  help- 
ing him  out  of  some  trouble  which  he  is  keeping  from 
her. 

"He  will  never  speak.  He  has  some  terribly 
earnest  reason  on  his  dear  conscience  which  will  not 
let  him  speak,  and  it  is  horribly  cruel  to  sit  still  and 
allow  him  to  keep  on  breaking  his  heart.  I  don't  care 
whether  it  is  tmwomanly  or  what  it  is — and  there  is 
no  one  to  listen,  so  it  does  not  matter — but  if  he  won't 
speak,  I — I  must!"  she  argued  with  herself. 

"Why  did  you  not  come  down  this  afternoon?" 
she  asked  softly. 

She  saw  a  kind  of  shudder  pass  through  him;  the 
muscles  of  his  throat  contracted  as  though  he  were 
swallowing  something  bitter  and  hard,  and  then  the 
pent-up  bitterness  and  hardness  broke  forth,  the 
flood-gates  opened: 

"Because  you  don't  want  me  any  more.  You  can 
do  without  me  now."  And  he  turned  his  head  away 
again  quickly,  so  that  she  could  only  see  the  back  of 
his  round  blue  bonnet. 

She  waited  for  nearly  a  whole  minute,  but  he  did 
not  move ;  and  then  she  stretched  out  her  hand  again 
and  laid  it  beside  his,  almost  touching  one  of  the 
pleats  of  his  kilt. 

"That  is  not  true,"  she  said  gently.  "I — do  want 
you." 


Heart's  Confession  115 

A  breathless  silence  followed.  It  was  as  if  that 
little  hand,  lying  there,  mesmerised  him.  He  did 
not  attempt  to  touch  it.  He  simply  sat  and  stared 
at  it. 

"Is  he  afraid  of  me?  or  is  he  afraid  of  himself?" 
Angela  wondered,  and  moved  her  hand.  He  thought 
that  she  was  going  to  take  it  away,  and  his  own 
closed  over  it  convulsively. 

"Oh  dear!  How  strong  he  is,"  she  murmured. 
"  It 's  like  a  vice." 

Then  he  turned  and  looked  at  her  with  a  wonder- 
ment of  love  and  pleading  in  his  eyes,  which  made  her 
heart  ache  and  throb.  He  slowly  unclasped  his 
fingers.  She  could  feel  how  they  trembled,  and  he 
looked  down  at  the  little  hand  which  lay  trustingly 
in  the  palm  of  his. 

"Do  you  mean — "  he  stammered  hoarsely. 

Angela's  eyes  were  swimming  in  tears.  His  face 
seemed  a  blur,  and  her  own  voice  sounded  like  a 
faint,  fluttering  whisper  coming  from  a  long  distance. 

"I — I  mean  you  to — keep  it." 

A  strangled  sob  was  smothered  in  Jock's  throat, 
and  he  put  his  other  hand  over  hers  and  held  it — not 
like  a  vice,  but  with  a  strength  which  told  that  no- 
thing would  ever  take  it  from  him;  and  they  sat 
together  for  some  moments  in  a  silence  which  drew 
them  nearer  to  each  other  than  words. 

Angela  wanted  him  to  speak — to  hear  his  voice. 
She  wanted  to  know  why  he  had  not  told  her  before 
that  he  loved  her.  She  wanted  to  know  what  was 
the  trouble  which  had  made  him  so  miserable,  and 
doubtful,  and  wavering.  She  wanted  to  love  him 
and  comfort  him  and  mother  him. 


ii6  Bawbee  Jock 

"I  don't  believe  he  knows,  poor  dear,  that  he  has 
not  said  any  of  the  things  that  he  ought  to  have  said. 
I  *ve  had  to  do  all  the  forwardness,  and  I  '11  have  to  go 
on  doing  it,  if  I  am  to  help  him.  I  must  find  out 
about  these  reasons,  and  why  he  did  not  wish  me  to 
misunderstand,  and  everything  that  has  been  making 
him  so  unhappy.  I  must  find  out  everjrthing — for 
his  own  sake." 

Jock  did  not  know  how  she  did  it — it  was  done  so 
sweetly  and  gently  and  lovingly.  But  then,  she  loved 
him  very  dearly. 

The  story  is  not  to  be  told  in  Jock's  words,  because 
he  told  it  very  badly — partly  for  the  reason  that  he 
was  holding  Angela's  hand  all  the  time  and  looking 
into  her  eyes;  and  partly  because  it  was  a  story  which, 
retold  by  the  woman  who  loved  him  and  who  could 
read  between  the  lines,  was  a  true  story;  and  Angela 
told  it  in  its  real  light  to  Flossie  the  next  day. 

The  evening  shadows  were  beginning  to  creep  up 
the  hillside,  and  the  golden  glory  of  sunset  was  gather- 
ing in  the  western  sky,  and  its  radiance  was  reflected 
in  Jock's  face,  and  a  certain  awe  as  well. 

"What  is  he  thinking  about?"  Angela  asked  her- 
self. "He  's  far  away  in  the  clouds.  He  imagines 
that  I  am  an  angel,  and  must  not  be  treated  like  a 
mortal." 

Then  Sheila's  voice  was  heard  in  the  distance.  The 
dew  was  falling,  and  it  was  growing  cold. 

"I  suppose  I  ought  to  go  in,"  suggested  Angela. 

"But  you  can't  walk,"  said  Jock — "I  mean,  you 
don't  need  to." 

He  had  come  down  from  the  clouds  with  a  start, 
and  there  was  a  look  of  apprehension  in  his  eyes. 


Heart's  Confession  117 

He  clung  desperately  to  the  hand  which  still  lay  in 
his. 

"Perhaps  one  walk  a  day  is  enough  for  the  first 
time,"  answered  Angela.  "And — Flossie  is  not  here. 
Oh,  how  funny  it  has  all  been!  Didn't  you  hate  it 
all?     Do  say  that  you  did." 

But  Jock  was  too  intent  on  lifting  her,  and  carry- 
ing her  in  exactly  the  way  he  knew  she  liked  to  be 
carried,  to  spare  a  thought  for  anything  else. 

Perhaps  it  was  only  when  he  held  her  in  his  arms 
that  he  really  did  come  down  from  the  clouds,  and 
find  that  he  was  very  human.  He  found  it  out  be- 
fore he  had  gone  many  paces ;  and  if  Flossie  had  been 
there,  he  would  certainly  have  told  him  to  steady  his 
steps  and  look  out  where  he  was  going. 

He  carried  her  into  the  little  kitchen,  where  the 
chair  stood  ready  beside  the  fire.  The  room  was  in 
shadow,  and  only  the  fire-glow  shone  upon  his  face. 
Angela  saw  the  light  in  his  eyes,  and  she  turned  her 
head  aside  and  hid  it  on  his  shoiilder. 

"Oh,  what  a — fraud  you  are!  I  thought  you  were 
so — shy,  and  so !" 

It  was  some  few  minutes  later,  and  she  was  sitting 
upright  in  the  old  arm-chair.     She  put  up  her  hand. 

"How  you  have  ruffled  my  hair!" 

"I  like  it  ruffled!"  said  Jock.  His  voice  seemed  to 
have  gained  a  new  tone;  it  was  full  and  strong.  He 
caught  her  hand.  "Leave  it  like  that.  It  all  twists 
in  little  curls  about  your  ears.  It 's  much  prettier 
than  it  was  before."  He  sat  down  on  the  wooden 
stool  which  was  always  drawn  in  beside  the  fire,  and 
looked  up  at  her.  "  Is  it  really  true?  "  he  said.  "  Am 
I  in  my  right  senses?" 


ii8  Bawbee  Jock 

"No,  I  don't  think  you  are,"  she  answered.  "You 
won't  feel  real — uncomfortably  real — until  you  have 
told  Flossie  what  you  've  done." 

His  eyes  sharpened.  They  looked  very  blue,  and  a 
kind  of  fighting  gUnt  came  into  them. 

"He  can't  take  you  away  from  me,"  he  said. 

"No;  but — I  wouldn't  hurt  him  for  the  world. 
We  must  be  very  nice  to  him.  He  has  always  taken 
care  of  me,  you  see." 

Jock  sighed  heavily. 

"He  won't  think  I'm  good  enough.  I'm  not! 
How  did  I  ever  dare  to  tell  you — to  ask  you — to 
speak — to ?  " 

Angela  blushed. 

"You  did  n't.  It  was  all  me.  You  Ve  never  pro- 
posed to  me  properly  yet." 

But  Jock  was  very  much  in  earnest. 

"We  '11  be  so  poor,"  he  said;  and  his  eyes  were 
very  troubled  as  they  met  hers.  "Do  you  under- 
stand? I  mean  really  poor.  If  it  was  not  that  I 
have  heard  you  say  so  often  that  you  loved  living  in 
this  little  cottage,  and  that  you  were  so  happy  with 
simple  things,  I  would  never  have  dared  to — " 
He  glanced  round  the  plain,  whitewashed  kitchen. 
"  I  have  n't  anything  much  better  than  this  to  give 
you." 

"  I  don't  want  an3rthing  better,"  answered  Angela. 
She  spoke  low,  and  she  bent  over  him.  His  blue 
bonnet  was  lying  on  the  floor  and  the  firelight  caught 
his  hair  where  there  was  that  little  crimp  in  it  above 
his  temples.  She  was  so  near ;  he  had  not  to  strain  his 
ears  to  listen.  "We  are  going  to  be  poor  together. 
I  would  rather  live  with — ^my  Bawbee  Jock  in  a  cot- 


Heart's  Confession  119 

tage  like  this  than  in  a  palace  with  any  one  else." 
Her  voice  fell  to  a  soft  whisper.  "  'Bawbee  Jock!' 
I  shall  always  love  you  by  that  name.  Always — 
always !     Because  it  was  the  beginning  of  everything." 

Presently  the  clock  on  the  wall  struck  an  ominous 
number  of  strokes  which  made  them  both  start  and 
look  at  it  in  astonishment. 

"I  suppose  I  ought  to  go,"  said  Jock.  "When  may 
I  come  back  again?  What  time  to-morrow?"  He 
looked  at  her  with  an  intensity  of  anxiety  in  his  eyes. 
"You  won't  go  away  and  leave  me,  will  you? — I 
mean,  if  there  is  no  one  to  keep  you  from  me.  You 
said  that  you  were  very  relationless.  Do  you  remem- 
ber? You  won't  keep  me  waiting  long — promise  me 
that  you  won't.  Promise  me  that  you  will  marry  me 
soon?" 

The  colour  was  flushing  her  cheeks;  her  lashes  were 
lowered,  and  he  could  not  see  the  expression  in  her 
eyes. 

"Say  that  you  won't  go  away — that  you  won't 
leave  me,"  he  pleaded  in  a  low  voice. 

"I  can't  promise  anything  until — I  have  told 
Flossie,"  she  murmured  hesitatingly.  "I  think — " 
She  raised  her  eyes,  and  added  quickly,  "Let  me 
speak  to  him  myself  first.  You  see,  I  understand 
him;  and — I  think  it  would  be  better.  Don't  come 
to-morrow  until  after  Flossie  has  been  here.  Do  you 
mind  very  much?" 

"I  do  mind — very  much,"  he  answered.  "But 
perhaps  you  know  best." 

Shortly  after  that  he  said  his  last  good-night  and 
went  away. 

On  the  brow  of  the  hill  he  stopped.     Dileas,  who 


I20  Bawbee  Jock 

was  following  him  like  a  grey  shadow,  stopped  too. 
The  moors  were  shrouded  in  the  evening  mist;  the 
hills  stood  out  against  the  pale  amber  of  the  darken- 
ing sky;  a  bank  of  purple  cloud  lay  low  on  the  horizon 
line;  and  one  golden  gleam  of  light  shone  like  a  beacon 
from  out  of  the  gathering  gloom. 

On  every  side  stretched  Glenmoira;  and  it  was  still 
his  own. 

"I  am  fighting  it  for  her  sake  now,"  he  murmured 
to  himself — "for  her  dear  sake." 


CHAPTER  IX 

ANGELA  BREAKS  THE  NEWS 

'T^HE  next  day  no  Ministering  Angels  appeared  at 
*■  Sheila's  cottage  to  work  havoc  in  her  tidy 
kitchen  and  harass  Angela  with  their  importunate 
attentions. 

The  morning  passed  quietly  and  peacefully,  and 
Angela  was  very  happy.  She  had  so  much  to  think 
about,  and  her  thoughts  were  sweet  and  serious;  and 
many  times  her  eyes  wandered  to  the  ridge  of  the  hill 
opposite  and  she  wondered  what  Jock  was  doing  and 
whether  he  had  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  ridge  from 
his  side,  and  looked  down  to  make  sure  that  the  little 
cottage  in  the  glen  below  had  not  taken  wings  and 
flown  away  in  the  night. 

After  she  had  finished  her  early  dinner,  she  asked 
Sheila  to  bring  her  knitting  and  to  sit  down  beside  her 
and  tell  her  stories.  Books  did  not  satisfy  her  to- 
day. She  wanted  real  life.  She  made  Sheila  tell  her 
stories  of  Glenmoira  and  of  the  days  when  Jock's 
father  had  held  rule  there ;  and  then  of  Jock's  life  now, 
among  his  people. 

She  loved  to  hear  Sheila  speak  Jock's  name;  her 
voice  seemed  to  linger  on  it  with  a  reverent  affec- 
tion. And  she  loved  to  listen  to  Sheila's  description  of 
the  clachan,  and  the  old  church,  and  the  old  minister, 

121 


122  Bawbee  Jock 

Mr.  MacPherson,  who  had  christened,  and  married, 
and  buried  all  the  members  of  the  chief's  family  dur- 
ing his  term  of  office. 

,  Sheila's  description  of  Jock,  going  to  church  every 
Sunday  accompanied  by  Dileas,  interested  her  very 
much.  It  seemed  that  it  was  the  custom  of  Highland 
dogs  to  accompany  their  masters  to  church,  and  that 
they  behaved  quite  as  decorously  as  human  beings. 

In  the  summer-time,  if  the  weather  was  fine.  Sheila 
told  her,  the  services  were  held  out-of-doors  on  the 
hillside ;  and  Angela  said  she  thought  that  was  a  most 
beautiful  and  picturesque  idea. 

"It  will  be  also  a  marriage  that  you  can  be  seeing 
on  the  hillside,"  said  Sheila. 

"  A  marriage ! "  exclaimed  Angela.  "  Have  you  ever 
seen  one?  Oh,  do  tell  me  about  it ! "  And  she  listened 
with  intense  earnestness  to  Sheila's  description  of  a 
marriage  which  she  had  herself  witnessed  the  stmimer 
before  in  the  glen,  when  the  ceremony  had  taken  place 
out-of-doors. 

Angela  was  very  silent  and  preoccupied  for  a  long 
lime  after  Sheila  had  ceased  speaking.  Then  she 
gave  a  long,  deep-drawn  sigh,  and  there  was  a  catch 
at  the  end  of  it,  like  that  of  a  child  who  is  standing  on 
the  brink  of  an  unknown,  unexplored  land  of  mystery. 

"Sheila,"  she  said,  "do  you  know  what  Donald 
said  to  me  when  he  was  told  to  welcome  me  to 
Glenmoira?" 

Sheila  smiled. 

"  It  is  himself  that  has  told  me  the  words  that  he  has 
said,"  she  answered. 

"  'It  is  to  the  glens  that  you  have  come,  and  it  is 
in  the  glens  that  you  will  stay,'  "  murmured  Angela. 


Angela  Breaks  the  News  123 

For  a  little  while  she  remained  very  still ;  and  Sheila 
did  not  speak  either,  but  sat  with  her  knitting  l3ang 
idle  on  her  lap  and  that  strange,  far-seeing  light  in 
her  eyes. 

So  the  hours  of  the  peaceful  day  crept  on,  and 
Angela  was  very  happy,  although  a  little  nervous  and 
expectant  at  the  thought  of  what  she  was  going  to  say 
to  Flossie  about  Jock.  She  hoped  that  he  would  come 
alone,  but  that  seemed  almost  too  good  to  be  allowed 
to  happen.  When  tea-time  drew  near,  and  still  there 
was  no  sign  of  either  Flossie  or  the  Ministering 
Angels,  she  began  to  regret  that  she  had  told  Jock  so 
decidedly  that  he  must  stay  away. 

She  had  grown  so  accustomed  to  counting  the 
minutes  until  the  kitchen  clock  struck  four,  that  she 
felt  a  sense  of  loss  and  blankness  stealing  over  her 
when  the  chimes  ticked  off  the  hour  and  she  realised 
that  they  meant  nothing. 

"I  have  burnt  my  boats  with  a  vengeance,"  she 
said  to  herself  with  a  rueful  smile;  and  she  asked 
Sheila  to  give  her  Donald's  stick,  and  began  to  prac- 
tise walking  backwards  and  forwards  on  a  narrow 
strip  of  level  ground  outside  the  cottage  door. 

"I  believe  I  am  ready  for  anything  now!"  she  told 
herself,  and  continued  her  walk  until  she  reached 
the  place  where  she  had  sat  with  Jock  the  evening 
before. 

"That  is  far  enough,"  she  murmured,  sinking 
down  on  the  yielding  heather;  and  presently  she  saw 
Sheila  coming  out  with  her  tea. 

Sheila  was  carrying  a  tray,  with  the  teapot  on  it, 
and  scones  and  oatcakes  and  honey;  and  setting 
everything  down  on  the  heather,  she  had  only  just 


124  Bawbee  Jock 

disappeared  into  the  cottage  again  when  Angela 
saw  Flossie  coming  down  the  glen-path  from  the 
moor. 

"Oh,  there  you  are  at  last!"  she  cried.  "I  am  so 
glad  to  see  you.  Call  out  to  Sheila  to  bring  another 
cup,  and  I  will  give  you  some  tea." 

But  Flossie  came  straight  to  where  she  was  sitting 
and  sank  down  with  an  exhausted  air  beside  her. 

"Never  mind  a  cup,"  he  said;  "give  it  me  in  the 
slop-basin.  Lord!  I  could  drink  anything!  Put  in 
lots  of  milk  to  cool  it ;  my  throat  feels  like  a  lime-kiln. 
Daniel's  fiery  furnace  was  nothing  to  it." 

"You  poor  dear  thing!"  exclaimed  Angela. 

Flossie  had  emptied  the  basin  and  held  it  out  to  be 
refilled  before  she  began  to  ask  questions. 

"  There !  I  feel  better  now,"  he  said,  taking  a  large 
silk  handkerchief  from  his  pocket  and  wiping  his 
little  downy  moustache. 

"Tell  me  all  about  it,"  said  Angela.  "Why  have 
I  been  left  in  such  blissfiil  peace?  Not  by  you,  I 
mean,  but  by  the  Ministering  Angels.  Where  are 
they?    Who  are  they  ministering  to?" 

"Their    own    selfish    selves,"    answered    Flossie. 
"They  've  gone,  my  dear  child." 
,    "Gone!"  echoed  Angela.     "Like  Antoinette?" 

Flossie  smiled  grimly. 
■    "Not  morals  this  time — it  *s  scarlet  fever!" 
i    "Scarlet  fever!     Who?" 

"No  one  that  you  know.  One  of  the  servants. 
She  went  about,  poor  wretch!  tmtil  she  collapsed — 
in  public !  You  can  imagine  the  scare  that  followed ! 
It  happened  just  as  we  were  going  to  dress  for  dinner 
last  night." 


Angela  Breaks  the  News         125 

"  But,  Flossie,  do  you  mean  to  say  that  they  have 
really  all  gone?    How  could  they  in  the  time?** 

"My  dear,  it  was  like  a  football  scrum.  Does  n't 
my  exhausted  appearance  speak  for  itself?  Some  one 
had  to  help — and " 

"Oh,  I  know  what  that  means!"  cried  Angela. 
"You  have  been  managing,  and  helping,  and  plan- 
ning, and  doing  everything  for  everybody.  You 
always  let  yoiu"self  be  victimised.  It 's  too  bad  the 
way  people  take  advantage  of  you." 

Flossie  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  've  been  doing  chauffeur  most  of  the  day,**  he 
remarked.  "We  've  had  two  motors  going  since 
streak  of  dawn.  It 's  been  a  sweeping  exodus.  No; 
I  must  give  credit  where  credit  is  due.  One  little 
maid  stuck  to  the  coloiirs — a  veritable  Trojan." 

"And  what  has  become  of  the  poor  scarlet-fever 
thing?"  asked  Angela. 

"She's  shut  up — isolated.  The  doctor  managed 
that.  A  grim-looking  beggar!  It  would  take  a 
pretty  nippy  saint  to  slip  through  his  fingers,  I  should 
imagine."  Flossie  took  out  his  cigarette-case  and, 
lighting  a  cigarette,  lay  back  against  the  heather  and 
tilted  his  cap  over  his  eyes.  "It 's  been  very  fuss- 
ing," he  said.  "And — and  some  of  it  was  rather 
trying." 

"Kind  Flossie!"  said  Angela.  "You  are  so  good; 
you  always  rise  to  an  emergency.'* 

Flossie  patted  his  chest. 

"Yes,  my  dear,  I  'm  a  man  of  parts.  It 's  very 
useful." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do — yourself?"  asked 
Angela. 


126  Bawbee  Jock 

"I?  Stay  and  look  after  you,  of  course.  You 
don't  suppose  I  was  going  to  bolt  and  leave  you?  By 
the  way,  Dolly  sent  all  kinds  of  messages.  She  was 
so  worried  being  sorry  for  every  one.  She  had  a  bad 
time." 

"Poor  Dolly!"  said  Angela.  Her  lip  curled  a 
little.  "I  suppose  Mr.  Potter  was  amongst  the  first 
to  fly?" 

Flossie  did  not  answer  for  a  moment.  He  was 
apparently  engrossed  in  watching  a  honey-laden  bee 
tr3dng  to  take  flight  from  a  bunch  of  heather  beside 
him.     Then  he  remarked  irrelevantly: 

"The  Devereux  left  two  days  ago.  I  forgot  to 
mention  it.  And — I  heard  Monty  giving  out  at 
lunch  yesterday — before  the  scare,  of  course — that 
his  medical  adviser  had  ordered  him  to  Hombtirg." 

Angela  flushed  hotly. 

"Do  you  think  that  was  true?"  she  said. 

Flossie  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Monty  's  pretty  useful  at  economising  the  truth. 
He  's — taking  Dolly  with  him." 

"Flossie!"  exclaimed  Angela  indignantly. 

"Oh!  he  likes  to  keep  a  halo  of  respectability  about 
his  head  if  it  costs  him  nothing,"  answered  Flossie. 
He  picked  out  a  lump  of  moss  from  the  bank.  "And 
Dolly  can't  rebel.  She  never  does  fight,  you  know. 
She — she  's  like  a  little  white  dove  in  the  hand  of  the 

fowler."     The  lump  of  moss  hit  the  bee.     "Oh, ! 

It 's  a  beastly  hard  world  for  women.  There — I  feel 
better.  Sorry,  dear,  for  using  bad  language,  but  I 
could  n't  help  it." 

"Flossie,  why  do  you  allow  it?"  burst  out  Angela 
vehemently.     "  He  's  not  a  man — he  's  a  brute !   Why 


Angela  Breaks  the  News         127 

don't  you — run  away  with  her?  She  would  go — 
she  's  so  accustomed  to  doing  what  you  tell  her;  and 
— I  don't  believe  it  would  be  wrong." 

Flossie  shook  his  head. 

"That's  just  it,  dear.  She's  so  accustomed  to 
trusting  me,  that — perhaps  she  would;  and  I  'd  be 
a  cad  to  take  advantage.  You  see,  she  does  n't — 
understand.  I  play  the  fool  so  well.  No  one  finds 
me  out." 

"Flossie,  how  can  you?    I  know " 

"What  every  woman  knows?"  quoted  Flossie, 
smiling;  but  the  smile  was  very  small  and  thin. 

"What  every  woman  does  not  know!"  declare(3 
Angela  with  sweeping  scorn.  "That  you  are  the 
straightest,  best  friend  any  woman  ever  had.  And 
oh!     I  am  so  sorry — so  dreadfully  sorry." 

"Thank  you,  dear." 

Flossie  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand  for  a  minute 
and  then  he  blew  his  nose.  There  was  a  lengthened 
pause,  and  he  laughed — a  whimsical,  rather  pathetic 
laugh. 

"My  dear,  when  nature  planned  me  out,  she  did  n't 
cast  me  for  a  Lothario  or  a  Don  Juan."  He  took 
hold  of  the  frilly  skirts  of  his  shooting-coat  and  flapped 
them  derisively.  "Think  of  the  legal  proceedings! 
What  kind  of  figure  woiild  I  cut  in  the  witness-box? 
Can't  you  hear  the  papers?  'Under  a  brilliant  fire 
of  cross-examination,  which  lasted  all  day,  the  co- 
respondent maintained  an  attitude  of  remarkable 
equanimity.'  .  .  .  Then  they  'd  stick  in  something 
about  my  clothes,  and  pile  on  the  adjectives.  No,  no, 
my  dear;  I  'm  not  cast  for  the  part."  He  lit  a  fresh 
cigarette.     "Now  then,  to  change  the  subject,"  he 


128  Bawbee  Jock 

said,  sitting  up  and  speaking  briskly.  "What's  to 
be  done  about  you?  By  the  way,  where  's  the  body- 
snatcher?    Where  's  Bawbee  Jock?" 

"He  has  not  been  here  to-day,"  said  Angela,  with 
a  suspicious  conciliatoriness  in  her  voice.  "I  can 
walk  alone  now,  Flossie.  I  came  out  here  all  by 
myself.     Isn't  it  splendid?"'*^ 

Flossie  nodded. 

"Capital!  Then  you  can  make  plans  for  moving 
on." 

Angela  said  nothing;  and  Flossie,  with  a  facetious- 
ness  born  of  misguided  confidence,  ran  on  glibly: 

"It's  time  you  did  make  up  your  mind  what 
you  're  going  to  do.  This  kind  of  mongrel  existence 
could  n't  last  much  longer.  You  'd  either  have  to 
take  to  wearing  a  nightcap  and  settling  down  here 
for  good,  or" — he  laughed — "or  marry  Bawbee 
Jock!" 

Angela's  cheeks  went  very  pink  and  her  eyes  grew 
wide  and  frightened. 

"I — I  hope  you  won't  mind  very  much,  but — " 
She  gave  a  gasp  and  took  the  plunge  without  allowing 
her  courage  to  slip.  "Flossie,  I — am  going  to  marry 
Bawbee  Jock.     I — have  promised  to  marry  him." 

She  held  out  her  hand,  and  her  eyes  and  lips  pleaded 
eloquently. 


CHAPTER  X 

BAWBEE  jock's   PARSIMONY     ' 

THE  blow  had  fallen — at  the  moment  when  he  least 
expected  it.  Flossie  did  not  need  to  question, 
or  to  look  at  her  even,  to  know  how  much  it  all  meant. 
She  was  in  sweet,  serious  earnest;  he  had  not  studied 
her  moods  from  the  time  that  she  could  only  express 
her  thoughts  in  baby  language,  not  to  know  that. 

"Flossie!"  whispered  Angela,  after  a  few  minutes* 
throbbing  silence.  "Do  say  something!  Don't  look 
like  that,  as  if — as  if — Oh,  I  never  saw  you  look  like 
that  before.    You  want  me  to  be  happy,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Flossie  mechanically,  "I  want 
you  to  be  happy ;  but — are  you  sure  he  can  make  you 
happy?  My  dear,  you  know  so  little  about  him;  and 
what  you  do  know — "  He  took  off  his  cap  and 
rumpled  up  the  fluff  of  hair  above  his  forehead.  "  I  'm 
sure  what  I  told  you  was  n't  particularly  taking." 

Angela  leant  forward  eagerly. 

"That  was  all  a  mistake,  every  bit  of  it.  I  can't 
think  how  you,  who  are  so  good  at  understanding, 
did  not  guess,  or  get  to  know,  or  find  out  somehow, 
that  it  was  a  mistake.  I  suppose  because — you  did 
not  fall  in  love  with  him." 

"I  expect  that  had  something  to  do  with  it,"  said 
Flossie  drily. 

9  129 


I30  Bawbee  Jock 

"It  was  all  a  mistake,"  reiterated  Angela.  "I  will 
tell  you  the  real  story.  He  told  it  to  me  last  night. 
Yes,  we  sat  out  here  imtil  it  was  almost  dark.  He 
put  things  so  that  sometimes  I  could  have  hugged  him, 
because  they  were  n't  a  bit  true,  although  he  tried  to 
make  me  think  they  were.  But  I  am  going  to  tell  you 
the  story  in  the  way  I  know  it  to  be  true.  Now 
listen.    I  think  you  had  better  light  a  fresh  cigarette." 

Flossie  lit  his  cigarette  and,  leaning  back  against 
the  bank,  half  shut  his  eyes.  He  did  not  wish  her  to 
see  how  much  they  might  tell,  and  he  mumbled  some- 
thing to  the  effect  that  she  might  "go  ahead,  and  stick 
to  facts." 

"Not  so  very  long  ago,"  began  Angela,  "Glen- 
moira  was  like  a  little  kingdom.  Jock's  father  was 
a  great  chief,  and  his  mother  was  very  beautiful,  and 
they  kept  open  house  for  weeks  at  a  time.  There  were 
meetings  and  gatherings,  and  pipers  of  course,  and 
torch-light  processions — the  clansmen  with  their 
claymores.  You  see,  I  Ve  got  all  the  names  of  the 
things  right,  have  n't  I?    And " 

"Did  Bawbee  Jock  tell  you  all  this  piffle?"  inter- 
posed Flossie.     "Rather  swagger  of  him,  if  he  did." 

"  No !  He  never  swaggers — you  know  he  does  n't," 
retorted  Angela  indignantly.  "Sheila  has  told  me 
things.     She  tells  beautiful  stories." 

"Hump!"  grumped  Flossie,  "so  it  seems.  Well, 
go  on." 

"I  'm  making  it  romantic  and  feudal  and  out  of 
the  conmion,"  said  Angela. 

"  Is  it  all  to  show  why  Bawbee  Jock  had  to  take  to 
screwing?  Because  his  ancestors  squandered  their 
heritage  in  riotous  living?"  asked  Flossie. 


Bawbee  Jock's  Parsimony         131 

"You  really  are  most  interrupting.  Do  listen  and 
keep  quiet.  The  old  chief  was  a  splendid  chief.  He 
covild  quite  afford  to  be  a  king!  Up  here,  you  know, 
where  he  lived — in  the  way  that  his  ancestors  did." 

"On  what  they  could  steal  from  their  neighbotirs," 
murmtired  Flossie.  "I  've  always  heard  that  High- 
landers were  a  thieving  lot." 

But  Angela  went  on  with  her  story  imheedingly. 

"The  old  chief  kept  up  all  the  ancient  customs  and 
traditions  in  the  way  that  his  forefathers  had  done  be- 
fore him  for  generations.  And  he  brought  up  his  son 
to  feel  the  same  as  he  did — about  his  responsibilities 
to  his  people,  and  what  he  owed  to  the  honour  of  the 
old  name.     You  're  listening,  Flossie,  are  n't  you?" 

Flossie's  response  was  inaudible. 

"You  can  imagine  what  Glenmoira  is  to — J- Jock," 
Angela  stumbled  a  little  over  the  name.  "Think 
what  it  must  be  to  him  to  see  some  one  else  here — 
taking  his  place.  He  is  such  a  good  sportsman,  too! 
— you  know  that.  He  sees  the  good  in  everything 
that  has  to  do  with  Nature."  The  misty  look  of 
dreaminess  came  into  her  eyes.  She  went  on  shyly: 
"  I  found  that  out  for  myself  that  day  when  he  asked 
me  to  go  into  his  butt  with  him,  and  we  walked  home 
across  the  moor  afterwards.  I — think  it  must  have 
begun  that  day.  It  was  the  kind  of  difference,  the 
contrast — getting  away  from  all  that  was  conven- 
tional to  what  was  really  real ;  the  strong,  sweet,  pure 
things  of  Nature,  things  which  have  not  changed  for 
centuries;  the  hills  and  the  moors,  with  their  memories 
of  what  has  been !  Think  of  what  scenes  these  places 
have  witnessed,  Flossie!  The  fights!"  Angela's 
cheek  flushed.     "Jock's  ancestors  were  tremendous 


132  Bawbee  Jock 

fighters.  They  raised  a  whole  regiment  once.  And 
the  regiment  still  exists.  Jock's  father  was  in  it,  and 
Jock  went  into  it.     But  I  'm  hurrying  on  too  quick." 

"My  dear,  I  don't  object  to  a  little  skipping,"  re- 
marked Flossie  politely. 

"  Of  course  he  went  to  school  like  any  ordinary  boy, 
but  he  always  loved  to  get  back  to  Glenmoira  and  into 
his  kilt,  and — be  Highland  again.  And  now  I  'm 
coming  to  the  important  bit.  There  was  a  brother, 
and  he  was  younger  than  Jock,  and  his  name  was 
Alister.  I  don't  think  he  can  have  been  like  Jock 
in  any  possible  way.  Jock  says  he  was  very  good- 
looking,  and " 

"That  settles  it,"  said  Flossie.  "You  needn't 
explain." 

Angela  continued,  ignoring  the  interruption: 

"  He  was  a  selfish,  spoilt  creature !  Every  one  seems 
to  have  spoilt  him.  His  mother  worshipped  him,  and 
gave  in  to  him  in  everything,  and  made  Jock  give  in  to 
him  too.  From  the  time  that  Jock  was  almost  a 
baby  himself,  he  was  always  told  that  he  must  give 
up  the  best  of  everything  to  Alister.  Of  course  Jock 
did  n't  put  it  in  that  way  to  me.  He  made  it  seem 
that,  because  he  was  the  elder,  he  should  take  care  of 
Alister.  But  I  know!  I  read  between  the  lines.  I 
don't  believe  Jock  has  ever  been  properly  loved. 
Flossie,  do  you  hear?  Do  you  realise  what  that 
means?" 

"Yes,  yes,  my  dear.  But — I  'm  anxious  to  get  to 
some  point  in  the  story.  Can't  you  skip  on  a  chapter 
or  two?" 

"I  thought  I  was  making  it  so  interesting,"  sighed 
Angela. 


Bawbee  Jock's  Parsimony        133 

"So  you  are.  But — what  next?  You  left  him 
going  into  the  regiment  that  had  been  raised  by  his 
ancestor." 

"Jock  went  abroad  with  his  regiment,  the 

Highlanders;  and  Alister  went  into  the  Guards." 

"The  Blues,"  said  Flossie.  "Alister  Mackenzie! 
Beauty  thought  he  knew  about  him,  but  I  knew  more. 
A  nice  young  scamp." 

"  I  'm  sure  he  must  have  been,"  said  Angela  quickly. 
"Jock,  of  course,  is  loyal  and  won't  say  so.  But  I 
must  hurry  on  or  else  you  will  get  bored.  The 
troubles  began  after  Jock's  father  died,  because  then 
Alister  was  able  to  go  his  own  way.  Jock  was  abroad, 
and  his  mother  would  not  live  at  Glenmoira;  she 
wanted  to  be  near  Alister.  And  so  Glenmoira  was 
left  deserted  and  everything  went  wrong.  I  don't 
know  exactly  what  happened  about  Alister.  It  had 
to  do  with  money,  of  course;  Jock  won't  give  him 
away.  It  must  have  been  something  very  bad — 
disgracef til !  Jock's  mother  sent  for  him  to  come 
home,  and  he  got  leave,  and  came  back  as  soon  as 
he  could;  but  Alister  had  bolted.  Yes!  He  had 
run  away!  Right  out  of  the  country,  and  left  his 
mother  heart-broken  —  literally  heart-broken.  She 
was  dying.  Flossie,  are  you  listening?  I  want  you 
to  pay  attention  to  this  bit  very  particularly." 

"Yes,  yes,  my  dear;  I  'm  listening,"  said  Flossie. 

"She  died!  Really  of  a  broken  heart.  And  do 
you  know  what  she  made  Jock  promise?  That,  if  he 
could  not  save  Alister — his  name  and  reputation,  and 
pay  off  this  disgraceful — whatever  it  was — in  any 
other  way,  he  would  sell  Glenmoira.  Only  think  of 
what  that  meant !    The  place  he  loved  so  dearly,  and 


134  Bawbee  Jock 

his  people,  and  all  that  his  father  had  brought  him 
up  to  be  to  them.  And  he  promised.  Glenmoira  is 
entailed;  but  he  could  break  the  entail  with  Alister's 
consent,  because  Alister  was  the  next  heir.  His 
mother  knew  that,  of  course,  and  she  made  him 
promise  that,  if  it  was  to  save  Alister — if  nothing 
else  would  save  him — he  would  break  the  entail, 
and  sell  Glenmoira.  He  has  not  done  it  yet;  he  has 
sacrificed  everything  to  prevent  it.  But — he  gave 
his  word.  And  it  is  always  hanging  over  him  that 
he  may  have  to  keep  it." 

Angela  paused  and  touched  Flossie's  shoulder. 

"Now  you  understand,"  she  said.  "Are  you  not 
sorry  for  having  misjudged  him?  Not  that  I  mind 
your  having  called  him  Bawbee  Jock,"  she  added 
quickly.     "I  love  that  name — I  always  shall." 

Flossie  fidgeted  and  straightened  his  cap. 

"Well — yes!  I  retract  what  I  may  have  said 
under  thfe  influence  of  a  common  misunderstanding," 
he  admitted.     "But  how  was  I  to  know?" 

"I  knew — I  guessed  there  was  something  from  the 
first,"  answered  Angela. 

"And  so  all  his  aim,  by  way  of  screwing,  has  been 
to  pay  off  that  young  scamp's  debts?"  said  Flossie. 

"Yes,"  said  Angela.  Her  voice  saddened.  "It  is 
the  hopelessness  of  it  that  has  taken  all  the  heart  out 
of  Jock.  He  has  started  Alister  afresh,  time  after 
time;  and  it  is  no  use.  He  can't  keep  straight;  and 
then  he  comes  back  on  Jock  to  help  him.  Jock  owns 
himself  that  it  is  hopeless.  He  says  he  can't  throw 
him  over,  and  yet  it  is  like  pouring  water  into  a  sieve 
to  try  to  help  him.  Flossie,  think  what  Jock  has  had 
to  give  up! — his  position,  his  rank  really!     He  won't 


Bawbee  Jock's  Parsimony        135 

go  about  and  stay  with  people.  He  says  he  can't, 
because  they  would  not  understand.  They  would 
expect  him  to  take  his  proper  place  as" — Angela 
raised  her  head  proudly — "as  the  Chief  of  Glen- 
moira,  which  he  is.  He  shields  Alister,  you  see,  and 
no  one  would  understand  why  he  could  not  do  the 
things  which  were  expected  of  him.  He  lives  up  here 
all  alone,  and  tries  to  keep  things  together,  so  that  if 
possible  he  can  save  Glenmoira.  Sheila  told  me  such 
a  pathetic  bit  of  the  story,  which  Jock  could  not.  You 
know,  Flossie,  these  Highlanders  are  just  like  children 
about  their  chief.  They  expect  to  be  led  and  cared 
for  by  him.  When  Jock  came  back  to  Hve  amongst 
them,  they  came  crowding  round  him,  crying  really 
like  children,  and  imploring  him  never  to  go  away 
again,  but  to  stay  with  them  always,  and  take  care 
of  them.  Now,  Flossie,  do  you  understand?  I  think 
the  lonely  life  he  has  led  has  made  him  dreadfully 
sensitive — too  sensitive,  perhaps.  I  think  he  thought 
that  he  had  no  right  to  be  happy.  That  because  he 
was  so  poor  he  had  no  right  to — well,  to  ask  any  one  to 
marry  him." 

Flossie  sat  up.  He  tapped  the  end  of  a  fresh  cigar- 
ette meditatively  against  his  knee  as  he  felt  for  his 
match-box,  and  looked  at  Angela  out  of  the  corners 
of  his  eyes. 

"  It  strikes  me  he  did  n't  lose  much  time  once  he  did 
get  his  chance,"  he  remarked  drily.  "Pretty  good 
cheek  of  him  to  wait  until  I  was  out  of  sight,  and  then 
walk  in.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  he  knew  his  way  about 
pretty  usefully." 

Angela  blushed. 

"It  was  my  fault — I  mean — it  hurt  him  dreadfully 


136  Bawbee  Jock 

to  see  that  I  could  walk  alone.  It  was  that  did  it. 
He  thought  I  did  not  want  him  any  longer;  and  I 
could  not  aUow  him  to  be  miserable,  and  so  I  had  to 
tell  him.  I — don't  quite  remember  what  I  told  him; 
but  that 's  how  it  happened.  Now  you  know!  And 
you  are  going  to  be  the  dear  that  you  have  always 
been,  Flossie,  and — help  me.  Because  I  'm  going  to 
do  it.  I  'm  going  to  marry  him."  She  stopped,  a 
little  breathless,  but  she  looked  very  determined. 

"Angela!  Angela!"  was  all  that  Flossie  could 
manage  to  say. 

He  felt  weak  and  helpless.  She  had  always  been 
sweetness  and  obedience  itself  to  him  on  occasions 
when  she  knew  that  he  knew  best;  but  this  was  an 
occasion  in  which  no  one  could  judge  for  her  but  her- 
self, and  she  knew  that. 

"  I  hope  he  knows  what  a  lucky  devil  he  is,"  he  said. 
"I  hope  he  understands  you.  Neither  of  you  know 
much  about  each  other,  so  far  as  I  can  see.  My  dear 
child,  I  feel  all  this  very  deeply;  you  Ve  been  a  great 
charge  to  me.  He  's  taking  a  big  responsibility  on  his 
shoulders.     I  hope  he  realises  that." 

Angela  had  been  sitting  very  still,  with  her  eyes 
on  the  distant  hills.  A  soft  light  was  shining  in 
them  when  she  turned  and  fixed  them  on  Flossie's 
face. 

"I — I  don't  think  he  realises  anything — but — me," 
she  said,  half  under  her  breath.  "Yes,  really!  It 's 
beautiful,  and  quite  adorable  of  him;  but  he — he 
does  n't  want  anything — but  me." 

Flossie  paused  in  the  act  of  striking  a  match. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,"  he  exclaimed,  "that  the 
man  's  such  a  benighted   fool   as   not   to —    Great 


Bawbee  Jock's  Parsimony        137 

Scott,  Angela!  Does  he  know  anything  about  you 
at  all?     Does  he  even  know  if  you  're  respectable?" 

Angela  shook  her  head  slowly  and  kept  her  eyes 
fixed  on  Flossie's. 

"It 's  just  me,"  she  reiterated  softly.  "He  wants 
— me;  that 's  all.  And — that 's  all  that  I  want  him 
to  want." 

Flossie  smothered  an  exclamation.  He  threw  away 
the  match  and  laid  down  his  cigarette  unlighted. 

"Angela,  what  do  you  mean?"  he  said. 

And  she  answered  him,  very  slowly  and  deliberately. 

He  sat  for  some  time  after  she  had  ceased  speak- 
ing, staring  at  her  with  a  kind  of  stupefaction  on  his 
face;  and  then  he  rose,  and  walked  over  to  the  bank 
which  overhung  the  stream,  and  stood  for  a  few 
minutes  looking  down  at  the  running  water.  Then 
he  came  back  and  took  up  his  position  in  front  of  her. 
He  had  a  great  deal  to  say,  and  he  could  always 
speak  best  when  he  was  on  his  feet.  At  the  end  of  half 
an  hour  he  was  still  on  his  feet,  and  Angela  was  still 
listening  to  him.  Her  face  was  as  white  as  the  hand- 
kerchief which  she  was  twisting  round  and  round  in 
her  fingers,  but  it  was  set  and  determined.  Flossie's 
cheeks  were  as  pink  as  Angela's  were  white. 

"Ridiculous  and  impossible! — impossible  and  most 
ridiculous!"  he  kept  repeating  with  vehement  per- 
sistency; but  it  was  the  persistency  of  baffled  im- 
potence. He  had  not  shaken  her  determination  by 
a  hair's  breadth.  This  was  a  new  Angela  to  him. 
He  was  not  pitting  his  strength  against  the  whim  of  a 
romantic  girl:  this  was  a  woman,  who  knew  her  own 
heart  and  her  own  mind,  and  had  the  will  and  the 
determination  to  abide  by  her  purpose. 


138  Bawbee  Jock 

Flossie  stopped  at  last.  He  was  still  standing,  and 
his  expression  was  one  of  puzzled  despair. 

The  set  look  on  Angela's  face  melted.  She  smiled, 
and  stretching  out  her  hand,  took  his,  and  pulled 
him  down  beside  her. 

"You  are  going  to  let  me  have  my  own  way.  I 
know  you  are,"  she  said  persuasively.  "And  I  am 
going  to  be  married  in  the  way  I  want  to  be  married ; 
and  you  are  going  to  help  me,  and  be  my  angel  of  a 
guardian,  and  give  me  away  your  very  own  self — 
you  are,  are  n't  you?" 

"Angela!"  groaned  Flossie  helplessly. 

Angela  smiled  again,  this  time  radiantly. 

"Flossie,  you  can't  think  how  beautiful  Scotch 
marriages  are — so  easy  and  simple." 

"Are  they?  What  heathen  rite  constitutes  a 
Scotch  marriage?  Child!  child!  I  don't  like  it  at 
all";  and  Flossie  groaned  again. 

Angela  raised  her  head  with  dignity. 

"You  forget,  Flossie,  that  Jock  is  a  chief.  I  be- 
lieve he  could  command  a  marriage  just  like  royalty ! 
He  has  a  minister  of  his  own  who  marries  and  buries 
all  the  family.  You  don't  know  about  all  these 
beautiful  old  Highland  customs;  but  I  do.  Sheila 
told  me  this  morning  about  a  marriage  she  had  seen 
herself;  and  it  was  out-of-doors — on  the  hillside, 
with " 

Flossie  raised  his  voice. 

"  My  dear  girl,  if  you  think  that  I  'm  going  to  lend 
my  presence  to  any  theatrical  experiments  about 
things  that  I  don't  understand  the  meaning  of,  you 
are  very  much  mistaken."  He  pushed  back  his  cap 
and  rubbed  his  forehead  impatiently.     "What  the 


Bawbee  Jock's  Parsimony        139 

dickens  am  I  to  do  with  you?  Do  you  know  what 
you  want  yourself?" 

The  coloiir  flushed  up  to  Angela's  cheeks.  She  was 
looking  beyond  Flossie  to  the  heather-clad  slope 
above,  to  where  a  little  green  track  wound  like  an 
emerald  ribbon  in  and  out  of  the  patches  of  purple 
bloom  and  bracken.  It  passed  Sheila's  cottage  and, 
wandering  on  to  the  right  of  it,  lost  itself  imder  the 
drooping  branches  of  a  mountain  ash. 

In  the  shade  of  the  tree,  under  the  canopy  of  lace- 
like foliage  and  clusters  of  scarlet  berries,  which 
glistened  in  the  afternoon  sunlight,  lay  a  long,  grey 
slab  of  rock.  Its  level  top  was  smooth  as  a  table, 
and  about  its  base  clustered  a  tiny  forest  of  oak-fern 
and  nodding  clumps  of  harebell. 

She  pointed. 

"Do  you  see  that  lovely  tree?  They  call  it  a 
rowan  tree  here.  Is  n't  it  a  pretty  name?  And  do 
you  see  that  long  grey  stone  underneath  it,  like  a 
table?  I — should  like  to  be  married  there!  The 
Bible  would  lie  on  that  stone — that  would  be  the 
altar;  and  the  old  minister  would  stand  behind  it, 
and  Jock  and  I  would  stand  in  front — and  he  would 
marry  us.  We  would  want  nothing  but  the  Bible  and 
— a  wedding  ring."  Her  eyes,  sweet  and  grave,  with 
a  shadow  of  awe  in  their  depths,  sought  Flossie's  be- 
seechingly. "Think  how  beautiful  it  would  be! 
Where  could  you  find  a  grander  church?  The  blue 
sky  above,  and  the  song  of  the  birds  and  the  ripple  of 
the  water  for  music.  Heaven  and  the  angels  look- 
ing down  on  us;  nothing  to  jar  and  fret;  nothing  to 
spoil  the  solemnity,  and  the  reality  of  what  we  are 
going  to  promise  to  be  to  each  other."     Her  voice 


140  Bawbee  Jock 

trembled.  "Don't  you  think  a  marriage  like  that 
would  be  very  near  to  what  God  meant  it  to  be?" 
She  slipped  her  hand  into  the  unresponsive  one  be- 
side her.  "I  believe  I  've  made  you  feel  it  just  as 
I  feel  it.  Let  yourself  go,  Flossie,  and  be  good  and 
kind;  and  help  me  to  have  the  wish  of  my  heart." 

Flossie  rubbed  away  something  out  of  the  comer 
of  his  eye  which  might  have  been  an  eyelash,  but 
Angela  knew  that  it  was  not. 

"Well,  dear,"  he  said  rather  huskily,  "I  won't 
make  rash  promises.  I  '11  find  out  if  it 's  possible. 
And  I  '11  have  a  very  serious  conversation  with — 
Bawbee  Jock  before  I  give  my  imconditional  consent. 
And  I  must  see  that  'family  minister.'  Where  does 
he  live?  In  the  same  God-forsaken  place  as  you  're 
going  to?"  His  fingers  closed  tightly  over  the  hand 
which  had  crept  into  his.  "Dear  child,  have  you 
thought  of  that? — the  loneliness,  the  isolation? 
These  wilds  are  positively  cut  off  from  civilisation 
in  the  winter  time.  Have  you  thought  of  all  that? 
How  do  I  know  that  he  knows  how  to  take  care 
of  you?" 

"I  'm  not  afraid.  I  trust  him.  I  would  trust 
him  with  my  life — I  am  going  to,"  she  answered. 

Flossie  sat  for  some  time  in  meditative  silence; 
then  he  said  abruptly: 

"How  much  longer  do  you  intend  to  stay  here?" 

Angela  blushed. 

"I  don't  know.  I  can't  live  on  here  much 
longer  with  Sheila,  can  I?  And  I  can't  go  back 
to  Glenmoira." 

"I  suppose  he  wants  you  to  marry  him  straight 
away — a  kind  of  royal  command,"  said  Flossie  drily. 


Bawbee  Jock's  Parsimony        141 

"Well — he  wants  to  marry  me  very  soon." 

"Humph!"  grunted  Flossie.  "These  red-haired 
chaps  are  smouldering  volcanoes.  As  you  're  set  on 
marrying  him,  you  'd  best  keep  that  in  mind." 

He  was  lost  in  meditation  again  for  some  minutes. 
And  then  Angela  heard  him  chuckling  softly  to 
himself. 

"  What  a  nice  sell  it  will  be  for — "  He  chuckled 
again.  "You  '11  hurt  a  good  many  people's  feelings, 
my  dear." 

"I  don't  want  to  hurt  any  one's  feelings,"  said 
Angela.  '  *  And  I  am  doing  nothing  that  I  am  ashamed 
of."  She  drew  herself  up.  "  I  am  proud  of  the  man 
that  I  am  going  to  marry.  I  am  proud  of  everything 
that  belongs  to  him,  and  it 's  all  quite  open." 

"Very  open!"  said  Flossie,  glancing  at  the  rowan 
tree.  "Supposing  it's  a  wet  day.  Will  you  be 
married  under  an  umbrella?" 

"Don't  make  fun  of  my  beautiful  idea,"  pleaded 
Angela.  She  looked  up  at  the  sky.  "This  lovely 
weather  is  going  to  last  for  ages — for  another  week, 
at  any  rate." 

"Are  you  going  to  be  married  in  a  week?"  exclaimed 
Flossie,  aghast. 

But  Angela  did  not  answer.  She  was  looking  away 
to  where  the  sunset  light  was  bathing  the  hill-tops. 
The  day  was  dying,  but  there  would  be  a  to-morrow; 
and  to-morrow  would  bring  her  lover  back  to  her 
again. 

"  I  must  be  off,"  said  Flossie.     "  It 's  getting  late." 

Angela  started,  and  returned  to  earth. 

"You  have  been  so  godd,"  she  said.  "I  could  not 
have  done  it  without  you;  nothing  would  have  been 


142  Bawbee  Jock 

right.  You  vsrill  always  be  my  guardian,  won*t  you? 
And  if  people  ask  questions,  you  will  know  what  to 
say."  She  broke  into  a  rippling  laugh.  "Flossie,  I 
would  so  love  to  hear  the  things  that  you  will  say 
when  people  ask  you  questions.  And  you  will  have 
to  own  that  you  were  at  the  wedding,  and  you  said — 
you  remember? — that  you  never  went  to  weddings, 
because  you  were  afraid  of  being  kissed."  She  bent 
forward.  "You  have  been  such  a  dear!  I  should 
like  to  kiss  you — now." 

"For  goodness'  sake,  don't!"  said  Flossie,  looking 
over  his  shoulder.  "How  do  you  know  that  Bawbee 
Jock  is  n't  watching  from  behind  one  of  those  bunches 
of  heather?" 

' '  But  it  would  not  matter  if  he  were.  He  would  not 
hurt  you." 

"  I  'd  rather  not  give  him  the  chance.  Highlanders 
are  only  half  civilised.  He  'd  have  that  spiky  thing 
he  carries  about  in  his  stocking  stabbed  into  my 
back  before  I  had  time  to  run  away." 

Angela  laughed. 

"Very  well.  You  can  imagine  that  you  've  been 
kissed." 

"Thanks,  dear;  I  will.  It 's  safer!  Now  really  I 
must  be  off.  I  have  a  hundred  things  to  see  to."  He 
rose  and  shook  himself  and  pulled  down  the  skirts  of 
his  coat.  Then  he  sighed.  "To-morrow,  I  suppose 
I  'm  to  take  up  the  r61e  of  heavy  father  and  interview 
that  red " 

"Flossie!"  Angela  held  up  her  finger.  "I  won't 
have  him  called  names."  Then  she  added  in  a  con- 
ciliatory tone,  "Shall  I  send  him  to  see  you?  I  would 
rather  not  be  too  near,  when — you  meet." 


Bawbee  Jock's  Parsimony         143 

Flossie  considered  for  a  moment. 

"  He  11  be  here  at  cock-crow,  I  suppose?  Yes,  send 
him  straight  on  to  me.  He  can  come  to  me  first;  and 
after  I  've  done  with  him,  you  can  have  what 's  left. 
Keep  him  out  of  the  way!  I  'm  going  to  make  an 
expedition  over  to  that  clachan  to-morrow,  or  what- 
ever you  call  it,  and  spy  the  land  for  myself.  I  don't 
want  him  prowling  round  and  trying  to  stuff  me  with 
the  show  bits.  I  'm  going  to  see  things  as  they  are!'* 
He  stooped  and  picked  up  his  stick.  "I  '11  let  you 
know  the  result,  and  if  I  find  anyiihing  I  don't  like, 
you  '11  hear  about  it,  you  may  be  quite  sure  of  that." 

"Good-night,  Flossie  dear,"  said  Angela;  "and 
thank  you  so  much.  I  hope  you  will  be  taken  care 
of.  Can  the  little  maid — the  Trojan — cook?  Will 
she  be  able  to  give  you  some  dinner?" 

"She  '11  try — she  '11  stick  at  nothing.  You  should 
have  seen  my  lunch.  A  row  of  cutlets  with  long  legs. 
No  petticoats — frills,  you  know;  and  a  spadeftil  of 
potatoes  in  the  largest  dish  she  could  find." 

Angela  watched  him  disappear  over  the  brow  of  the 
hill.  She  saw  him  silhouetted  against  the  sky-line; 
and  he  paused  to  wave  his  stick  to  her  before  he 
vanished  from  sight. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  EVE  BEFORE  THE  WEDDING 

STRETCHED  his  full  length  on  the  heather, 
with  his  head  pillowed  upon  his  folded  arms, 
Jock  lay  and  kept  vigil  with  himself  and  the  God 
who,  in  the  simple  sincerity  of  his  boyhood's  faith, 
he  believed  looked  down  on  him  from  the  star-lit  sky 
above. 

It  was  the  eve  of  his  wedding-day.  To-morrow  his 
love  would  give  him  the  precious  gift  of  her  sweet 
self,  and  the  immensity  of  what  that  meant  seemed 
almost  more  than  he  could  bear.  He  must  be  alone 
with  himself:  to  take  communion  with  the  divine 
spirit  of  Nature  which  had  taught  him  to  reverence 
all  that  was  pure  and  good;  and  to  cleanse  his  soul  in 
the  presence  of  his  Maker. 

Standing  on  the  threshold  of  the  new  life  which 
would  break  with  the  rising  dawn,  those  past  days  of 
waiting  now  seemed  to  him  like  a  dream.  There  had 
been  times  when  he  had  been  afraid;  when  with 
trembling  fear  he  had  not  dared  to  allow  himself  to 
believe  that  the  reality  of  his  dream  coiild  be  accom- 
plished; times  when  in  the  dark  watches  of  the  night 
he  had  stretched  out  his  arms  and  cried  dumbly  in 
the  passion  of  his  longing,  "Give  her  to  me,  at  any 
cost!     I  cannot  live  without  her." 

144 


The  Eve  before  the  Wedding     145 

The  material  details  of  that  waiting  time  had  left 
him  with  an  odd  sense  of  irresponsibility.  All  his 
life  he  had  been  the  one  on  whom  responsibility  fell. 
He  never  remembered  the  day  when  it  had  been  other- 
wise; but  he  was  conscious  of  no  resentment,  or  feel- 
ing of  having  been  put  aside.  He  did  not  try  to 
analyse  his  state  of  mind.  Perhaps  he  was  not  normal 
enough  to  do  so.  One  circumstance  had  brought 
home  to  him  the  reality  of  the  step  which  he  was  about 
to  take;  and  that  was  when,  the  Sunday  before,  sit- 
ting in  the  little  box-like  gallery  of  the  old  church,  he 
had  listened  to  the  proclamation  of  the  banns  of 
marriage  between  "John  Murdoch  Mackenzie,  bach- 
elor, and  Angela  Tempest,  spinster,  for  the  first, 
second,  and  third  time  of  asking."* 

They  were  to  be  married  early  in  the  day,  und,er 
the  rowan  tree,  as  Angela  had  wished;  and  then  he 
was  to  mount  his  bride  on  one  of  the  broad-backed  hill 
ponies,  and  bear  her  away  with  him  to  his  home  over 
the  hills.  It  was  to  be  like  a  page  out  of  some  old- 
world  romance,  but  infinitely  more  beautiful,  because 
it  was  real.  Nothing  sordid  or  mercenary!  nothing  of 
the  turmoil  of  the  outside  world,  was  to  be  allowed  to 
smirch  the  whiteness  of  that  day. 

Circumstances  had  made  Jock  curiously  unworldly 
in  some  respects.  When  Angela  had  told  him,  as 
they  had  said  good-bye  for  the  last  time  that  even- 
ing, that  she  had  not  a  wedding  gown,  no  wreath  or 
veil,  not  even  a  sprig  of  orange-blossom,  he  had  looked 
at  her  with  that  expression  of  concentrated  intensity 
which  made  his  eyes  so  very  blue. 

» In  the  Scotch  church,  banns  can  be  proclaimed  for  the  first, 
second,  and  third  time,  in  one  proclamation. 


146  Bawbee  Jock 

"Ought  I  to  have  given  you  these  things?"  he  had 
asked  anxiously.     "I  don't  like  veils;  I  want  to  see 
your  face  all  the  time." 
Angela  had  smiled. 

'■  "A  bridegroom  is  allowed  to  give  his  bride  a  bou- 
quet. It  generally  smells  dreadfully  strong  of  orange- 
blossom,  and  I  don't  like  orange-blossom;  so  I  'm 
glad  you  can't  give  me  one." 

>     But  Jock's  brow  had  cleared. 

"I  can  give  you  something  instead  of  the  orange- 
blossom.  You  must  look  out  for  it  the  very  first 
thing  in  the  morning.     Remember,  won't  you?" 

■      "Where?"  she  had  asked. 

i     "On  yoiir  window-sill,"  he  had  answered. 

As  he  lay  on  the  heather,  under  the  star-lit  sky, 
with  the  faithful  deerhound's  muzzle  resting  against 
his  knee,  Jock  had  been  going  over,  bit  by  bit,  the 
twenty-six  years  of  his  young  life,  taking  the  measure 
of  what  was  past,  making  his  vows  for  what  was  to 
come.  It  had  been  a  good  life;  but  he  reviewed  it, 
as  it  passed  before  his  mental  vision,  with  the  dis- 
passionate honesty  which  was  the  integral  backbone 
of  his  character — reviewed  its  failures  and  its  victories, 
where  he  had  stumbled,  where  he  had  buckled  on  his 
armoiu";  there,  where  a  lurking  devil  had  lain  in  wait 
to  tempt  him;  there  where  a  helping  hand  had  been 
stretched  out  to  save. 

And  a  great  peace  seemed  to  fall  upon  his  spirit. 
The  moon  had  risen,  a  yeUow  harvest-moon,  and 
flooded  the  hills  in  lambent  light;  only  where  the 
corries  scored  the  rocky  sides  of  the  glen  the  shadows 
lay  black,  like  patches  of  dark  velvet. 

The  hotmd  moved.     Dileas  knew  that  it  was  not 


The  Eve  Before  the  Wedding     147 

his  master's  custom  to  sleep  out  on  the  heather.  He 
wished  to  show  his  sympathy,  and  the  fact  that  he  was 
aware  that  something  unusual  was  happening. 

Jock  laid  his  hand  on  the  dog's  head. 
■    "You  understand,  old  boy,  don't  you?"  he  said. 

He  roused  himself.  The  moonlight  made  the  scene 
almost  as  bright  as  day,  and  he  looked  round,  and 
then  above,  to  where,  clear  cut  as  a  cameo,  against 
the  sky,  a  solitary  cairn  stood  out  in  bold  relief. 

He  rose  and  stretched  his  arms — the  pressure  of  his 
pillowed  head  had  cramped  them — and  then  he  started 
to  climb  the  steep  hillside. 

It  was  a  stiff  cHmb,  but  he  never  paused  or  slack- 
ened his  pace.  He  was  too  true  a  Highlander  not  to 
know  how  to  breast  his  native  hills,  and  he  did  not 
stop  to  draw  breath  until  he  stood  in  the  shadow  of 
the  cairn. 

He  knew  it  well.  It  marked  the  spot  from  where 
many  a  beacon-fire  had  sent  its  flash  of  warning  far 
and  wide  to  gather  the  clansmen  to  rally  round  their 
chief  in  days  of  old. 

Jock  stood,  silently  looking  down  at  the  moonlit 
beauty  and  grandeur  of  the  scene.  These  lands  were 
the  lands  which  his  forefathers  had  held  and  fought 
for,  shed  their  blood  for,  suffered  exile  for,  clung  to 
through  generations  of  war  and  peace,  and  on  him  lay 
the  burden  and  the  right  to  uphold  the  honour  of  the 
old  name. 

"It  would  break  my  heart  to  give  it  up!  I 
cannot!" 

The  bitter  cry  was  wrung  from  his  lips.  He  stood 
with  drooped  head,  for  he  could  not  bear  to  look  at  the 
loveliness  stretched  out  before  him.    The  thought  of 


148  Bawbee  Jock 

a  stranger's  rule  was  agony.  Love  of  the  soil,  so 
deeply  rooted  in  the  Celtic  nature,  had  twined  its 
tendrils  like  bands  of  steel  about  his  heart.  He  had 
been  bred  and  bom  and  niirtured  on  these  lands ;  they 
were  part  of  his  very  life;  the  muscles  and  sinews  of 
his  strength  owed  to  them  their  being. 

Dileas  thrust  his  nose  into  his  hand. 

"Yes,  it 's  time  you  woke  me  up,"  said  Jock.  "We 
came  to  find  something.  I  have  not  much  to  give 
her,  but  she  shall  have  that." 

He  began  to  walk  in  a  circle  roimd  the  cairn,  widen- 
ing his  circle  at  each  round ;  then  he  retraced  his  steps, 
and  suddenly  brought  himself  up  with  an  exclama- 
tion. The  moonlight  threw  a  misty  sheen  on  the 
heather,  whitening  it  like  silver,  and  he  had  almost 
walked  over  the  thing  he  was  in  search  of.  He  had 
known  that  it  must  be  there,  if  he  could  only  find  it ; 
there  was  always  a  plant  of  white  heather  in  that 
particular  spot.  He  drew  his  dirk  and,  stooping,  cut 
the  sprigs  carefully,  choosing  only  the  best. 

"I  can't  arrange  it;  but  she  will  know  what  to  do," 
he  said  to  himself,  as  he  twisted  a  fibry  piece  of  stalk 
round  the  stems  of  the  bunch.  He  made  a  loop,  so 
that  it  could  hang  from  his  finger,  and  not  be  crushed 
by  his  hand ;  and  then  he  took  his  way  down  the  hill 
again,  swinging  lightly  over  the  ground,  until  he 
came  to  the  banks  of  the  stream  below.  At  one  place, 
where  the  water  had  sapped  into  the  spongy  moss, 
scrubby  clumps  of  bog-myrtle  grew  in  scattered 
patches.  He  drew  his  dirk  again,  and  a  sweet  spicy 
scent  rose  on  the  night-air  as  his  sharp  blade  cut  into 
the  tough  stems.  He  gathered  some  wet  moss,  and 
wrapped  in  it  the  green  shoots  he  had  cut,  for  the  roid 


The  Eve  before  the  Wedding     149 

would  fade  quicker  than  the  heather;  and  then  he 
went  on  his  way  again,  very  quietly  and  noiselessly 
now,  for  immediately  above  him  on  the  bank  was 
Sheila's  cottage,  and  it  was  to  a  little  window  which 
he  saw  open,  although  the  dimity  curtain  was  pulled 
across  it,  that  he  must  make  his  way,  without  dis- 
turbing the  sleeper  within. 

It  was  close  upon  midnight;  in  another  few  hours 
the  dawn  would  be  glimmering  in  the  east — the  dawn 
of  his  wedding-day. 

He  was  light  of  foot,  even  for  a  Highlander  who 
has  trod  the  heather  all  his  life,  and  he  made  no  more 
sound  as  he  mounted  the  bank  than  did  the  grey 
shadow  which  followed  at  his  heels.  When  he  drew 
quite  near,  he  hesitated  and  made  a  wider  circuit, 
for  the  moonlight  was  strong,  and  the  whitewashed 
cottage  lay  bathed  in  it,  all  except  the  bit  of  wall 
from  which  the  window  with  the  dimity  ctulain 
projected. 

There  a  deep  shadow  fell,  and  into  the  shadow  he 
crept;  and  stretching  out  his  arm  he  laid  his  bridal 
gift,  the  only  offering  he  had  to  give  to  his  love,  upon 
the  ledge  of  her  window-sill.  He  stepped  back  and 
stood  motionless  in  the  shadow.  The  woman  he 
loved  was  sleeping  under  that  humble  roof  close  by; 
and  he  had  kept  his  vigil  on  the  lone  hillside.  He 
took  off  his  bonnet  and  raised  his  face  to  the  moonlit 
sky. 

"Help  me  to  be  worthy  of  her.  Keep  my  heart 
clean  and  my  hands  strong.  And  if  ever  I  fail  in  my 
trust,  deal  with  me  as  I  deserve." 

That  was  Jock's  prayer  on  the  eve  of  his  wedding- 
day.    And  as  he  walked  back  across  the  hiU  to  the 


150  Bawbee  Jock 

old  farmhouse  which  had  been  his  home  for  three 
lonely  years,  his  heart  was  singing,  for  before  an- 
other sun  would  rise  and  set,  it  would  be  lonely  for 
him  no  longer. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  MARRIAGE  IN  THE  HIGHLANDS 

ANGELA  was  married  under  the  rowan  tree  as  she 
had  wished  to  be  married;  and  Flossie,  standing 
a  few  paces  behind  her,  for  it  was  his  duty  to  guard  her 
to  the  last,  owned  to  himself  that  nothing  cotdd  have 
been  more  reverently  beautiful,  with  the  reverence  of 
its  own  simplicity,  than  that  hillside  ceremony. 

Angela's  white  frock  was  reHeved  by  no  ornaments; 
but  she  wore  her  lover's  bridal  gift,  and  she  had 
twisted  a  tiny  little  wreath  of  it  into  her  dark  hair. 

Flossie  thought  he  had  never  seen  anything  so 
tender  and  sweet  as  the  radiance  of  happiness  which 
shone  in  her  eyes  as  she  stood  with  her  hand  clasped 
in  that  of  the  man  to  whom  she  was  plighting  her 
troth. 

Jock  looked  what  he  was  that  day.  And  he  carried 
himself  with  a  dignity  which  won  for  him  the  respect 
and  admiration  of  that  solitary  wedding  guest.  For 
there  was  no  bridal  party,  no  following  to  carp  or 
criticise,  to  admire  or  envy.  There  was  no  one  but 
Flossie  and  the  faithful  deerhound,  who  stood  behind 
his  master. 

Sheila  watched  and  prayed  from  the  shelter  of  her 
cottage  door;  and  old  Donald  in  the  background, 
holding  the  rein  of  the  hill-pony  which  was  to  bear 

151 


152  Bawbee  Jock 

his  chief's  bride  away  on  her  homeward  Journey, 
stood  bareheaded,  muttering  GaeUc  blessings  which 
sotmded  Hke  incantations  from  the  spirits  of  another 
world. 

Behind  the  grey  stone  altar  the  old  minister,  in  his 
flowing  black  gown,  struck  a  grave  note  of  dramatic 
solemnity.  His  fine  head  with  its  wealth  of  silvery 
hair  was  framed  against  the  drooping  boughs  of  the 
rowan  tree;  and  in  his  deep-set  eyes  shone  a  light  of 
paternal  love  as  they  rested  on  the  face  of  the  young 
bridegroom.  He  had  known  him  as  a  helpless  infant 
held  up  in  his  father's  arms  to  receive  the  sign  of  the 
cross;  he  had  known  him  as  a  child;  he  had  known 
him  through  youth  to  manhood;  and  he  loved  him  as 
he  would  have  loved  his  own  son. 

He  closed  the  Bible  and  raised  his  arms  in  the  final 
benediction,  pouring  out  his  blessing  with  a  fervent 
sincerity  which  was  wrung  from  the  depths  of  his  soul ; 
and  for  some  moments  after  he  had  ceased  to  speak 
his  lips  continued  to  murmur  an  inward  prayer  over 
the  heads  of  the  two  kneeling  before  him,  whom  he  had 
made  man  and  wife. 

Slowly  he  dropped  his  outstretched  arms,  but  Jock 
did  not  move.  His  eyes  were  riveted,  not  on  Angela's 
face,  but  on  the  gold  band  which  shone  on  the  finger 
of  the  hand  he  held  in  his.  Mr.  MacPherson  waited ; 
then  he  stooped  and  whispered  something  in  an  under- 
tone, and  Jock  rose,  and  still  holding  that  precious 
hand  in  his,  he  led  her  along  the  green  track,  that 
wended  its  way  like  an  emerald  ribbon  through  the 
carpet  of  heather  to  the  door  of  Sheila's  cottage. 

Sheila  was  standing  just  inside,  and  curtseyed  low 
to  her  master  and  his  bride. 


A  Marriage  in  the  Highlands     153 

"  It  is  the  many  years  of  happiness  that  I  am  wish- 
ing whatever,"  she  said  with  shining  eyes,  and  mur- 
mured something  in  Gaelic  which  Jock  understood 
but  which  Angela  did  not. 

I  Then  Mr.  MacPherson  came  in,  and  Flossie.  An- 
gela went  up  to  the  old  minister  and  his  kind  eyes 
smiled  into  hers. 

"Is  that  all  we  have  to  do?"  she  asked.  "Is  it 
really  true  that  we  are  married?" 

"Yes,  it  will  be  true,"  he  answered.  His  voice  had 
the  sweetly  musical  tone  of  the  educated  Highlander. 
He  bowed  his  silvery  head,  with  a  beautiful  old- 
world  courtesy  which  she  thought  perfect.  "You 
are  our  lady  now — the  wife  of  our  chief." 
I  She  looked  at  Jock;  and  he  kissed  her,  gently  and 
reverently,  before  them  all,  and  then  she  knew  that  it 
was  true. 

For  a  few  moments  she  was  silent,  her  eyes  dim 
with  tears,  her  heart  too  full  for  words;  and  then  she 
turned  and  saw  Flossie  standing  close  behind  her,  and 
she  threw  her  arms  impulsively  round  his  neck. 

"I  don't  care  whether  you  like  it  or  not,"  she  half- 
sobbed — "I  must  kiss  you,  Flossie.  I  can't  help 
it." 

Flossie  winced;  he  was  being  sorely  tried,  but  he 
bore  himself  bravely.  He  gently  disengaged  him- 
self, and,  going  over  to  the  fireplace,  stood  with  his 
back  to  her,  his  arm  resting  on  the  mantelshelf.  He 
could  not  speak — it  was  no  use  trying;  and  Angela 
found  that  she  was  in  the  little  kitchen  alone  with  him, 
for  Mr.  MacPherson  and  Sheila  had  slipped  out  un- 
observed, and  Jock  had  whispered  to  her  that  he 
would  go  and  see  if  Donald  had  saddled  the  pony 


154  Bawbee  Jock 

right,  and  she  had  smiled  her  gratitude  to  him  for 
understanding  so  well. 

Flossie  did  not  look  roimd.  She  put  her  hand  into 
his,  in  the  way  she  had  been  used  to  do  when,  as  a 
child,  she  had  come  to  him  with  her  joys  and  sorrows, 
and  she  spoke  to  him  out  of  the  depths  of  the  love 
which  was  flooding  her  senses  with  a  new-bom  light  of 
understanding.  She  told  him  what  he  had  been  to 
her :  what  she  might  have  been,  but  for  him. 

"No  one  can  take  your  place — no  one,"  she  said  at 
the  end.  "It  will  always  be  there  for  you — ^just  the 
same.  It  is  quite  different  to  any  other  love  that  can 
come  into  my  life,  because  it  has  helped  to  make  what 
the  other  will  be — I  mean  what  I  hope  it  will  be." 

"  Thank  you,  dear,"  said  Flossie  huskily.  "  You  've 
been  a  good  child.  I  Ve  tried  to  bring  you  up  to 
know  yoiu"  world.     I  did  n't  blindfold  you." 

There  was  a  long  silence,  which  Angela  herself 
broke  at  last. 

"How  bare  the  little  kitchen  looks!"  she  said, 
glancing  round.  "The  cottage  is  to  be  shut  up. 
Sheila  is  going  to  take  care  of  us.  She  will  go  one  way, 
and  we  will  go  another,  but  she  will  arrive  first.  We 
are  not  to  arrive  until  the  end  of  the  day,  although  it  is 
only  a  few  miles  across  the  hills."  Flossie  did  not 
respond ;  but  she  continued,  trying  to  speak  lightly,  to 
appeal  to  something  in  him  which  would  break  the 
strain.  "The  journey  is  to  be  otu*  honeymoon. 
Quite  patriarchal,  and  different  to  any  honeymoon 
that  has  ever  been  before.  It  will  be  like  the  wander- 
ings of  the  Children  of  Israel  looking  for  the  Promised 
Land.  I  am  to  wander  on  the  back  of  a  pony,  and 
Jock  is  to  lead  it." 


A  Marriage  in  the  Highlands     155 

Flossie  dropped  his  arm  from  the  mantelshelf  and 
turned  round.  His  voice  had  recovered  its  usual  tone 
of  easy  lightness  when  he  spoke. 

"I  hope  you'll  find  your  belongings  all  right. 
They  were  to  be  sent  by  the  road.  Are  you  sure  that 
you  have  everything  that  you  want?" 

"Quite  sure,"  answered  Angela.  "What  a  good 
thing  it  was  that  Antoinette  ran  away,  was  n't  it? 
She  would  have  been  such  a  nuisance." 

Flossie  gave  a  short  laugh. 

"The  Fates  have  certainly  combined  to  allow  you 
to  carry  out  your  fancy  for  a  romantic  wedding,  my 
dear,"  he  said.  "This  scarlet-fever  scare  has  helped 
to  isolate  you  pretty  successfully. — Well — !"  It 
was  drawing  near  the  time  to  face  the  inevitable  part- 
ing, and  he  must  not  throw  a  cloud  on  what  ought  to 
be  the  happiest  day  of  her  life.  He  took  both  her 
hands  in  his,  and  looked  at  her  with  an  expression  on 
his  face  which  would  have  been  a  revelation,  even  to 
those  who  knew  him  best.  "God  bless  you,  dear!" 
he  said  gravely.  "You  have  chosen  your  husband: 
be  faithful  to  him."  Then  he  dropped  her  hands 
quickly,  and  moved  to  the  door.  She  heard  him 
talking  to  Sheila  outside,  and  he  put  his  head  in 
again  and  called  in  a  brisk,  authoritative  voice: 
"Madam!  Your  palfrey,  or  whatever  you  call  this 
animal  out  here,  is  saddled  and  bridled — and  pro- 
visioned for  a  siege,  by  the  look  of  it.  It  ought 
to  have  been  a  camel  to  carry  out  your  'Promised 
Land'  idea  of  a  honeymoon." 

Angela  came  to  the  door. 

"Where  did  that  beautiful  tea-basket  come  from?" 
she  said.     "  I  thought  we  were  to  carry  our  provisions 


156  Bawbee  Jock 

for  the  day  tied  up  in  a  bundle.  I  'm  sure  the  Children 
of  Israel  carried  everything  in  bundles." 

"That 's  my  wedding  present,"  said  Flossie,  pat- 
ting the  basket.  "It  may  not  look  Israelitish,  but 
it 's  got  something  a  deal  more  appetising  inside  it 
than  manna,  as  you  '11  find  by  lunch  time,  after  a  little 
wandering  in  search  of  the  Promised  Land." 

Jock  was  talking  to  Donald,  and  Flossie,  without 
giving  Angela  time  to  express  her  thanks  for  the  tea- 
basket,  called  to  him  peremptorily: 

"Look  here,  my  good  man!  Just  begin  to  use  your 
authority  with  this  young  woman  whom  you  have 
taken  to  yourself,  with,  allow  me  to  remark,  an  ex- 
traordinary lack  of  the  national  caution  which  a 
canny  Scot  is  supposed  to  possess.  Tell  her  to  go 
and  take  that  wreath  off  her  head,  and  put  on  a  hat. 
I  hope  it 's  a  shady  one,"  he  added,  "for  it 's  going 
to  be  a  blazing  hot  day,  although  we  have  jumped  into 
September." 

"You  are  in  a  great  hurry  to  get  rid  of  me,"  pouted 
Angela. 

"I  have  to  catch  a  train,"  retorted  Flossie. 

Angela  vanished  inside  the  cottage  and  reap- 
peared after  a  few  minutes'  absence  with  her  hat  on, 
and  carrying  a  cardboard  box  tied  up  with  a  piece  of 
string.  Her  hat  was  wide  and  shady,  and  it  had  a 
blue  ribbon  twisted  roimd  the  crown,  and  the  ends  fell 
over  the  edge  of  the  brim. 

She  shook  her  head  at  Jock,  who  was  watching  her 
from  the  other  side  of  the  pony's  broad  back ;  and  the 
blue  ends  fluttered  and  she  saw  the  light  which  leapt 
up  into  his  eyes. 

"You  recognise  it,  don't  you?    The  very  same  blue 


A  Marriage  in  the  Highlands     157 

ribbon,"  she  said.  She  held  out  the  box  to  Flossie. 
"  Tie  that  on  very  carefully.  Would  you  like  to  guess 
what 's  inside  it?     Look  at  the  label." 

Flossie  read  out  the  name  of  a  well-known  boot- 
shop. 

"What 's  inside?"  he  said.  "Not  boots,  if  I  know 
anything  of  woman's  ways.  Curling  tongs,  or  a 
powder-puff."  He  wagged  his  head  solemnly  at 
Jock.  "O  you  poor  innocent!  what  shocks  you'll 
get,  once  you  begin  to  find  her  out." 

But  Angela  only  laughed,  and  shook  the  boot-box  at 
him. 

"  It 's  my  wedding  wreath,"  she  said.  *'  If  we  meet 
any  inquisitive  wayfarers  in  our  wanderings,  and 
they  look  askance  at  me,  I  shall  open  my  box.  Or" 
— she  blushed  and  held  out  her  finger — "perhaps  that 
would  be  more  convincing.  Is  n't  it  a  beautiful  ring? 
So  big  and  plump  and  shiny." 

"It  ought  to  have  been  through  your  nose,"  said 
Flossie,  "if  you  're  going  to  play  at  BibHcal  history. 
That 's  where  Rebekah  had  hers  cUpped  on  by  that 
marauding  old  scoundrel  of  Abraham's  who  was  sent 
to  steal  a  bride  for  Isaac.  Now  then,  my  dear — !" 
He  took  out  his  watch.  "  Good  gracious !  I  shall  have 
to  run  all  the  way  back  if  I  'm  to  catch  my  train."  He 
glanced  grudgingly  at  Jock.  "Who  's  to  mount  her? 
You  or  I?" 

Angela  flashed  a  look  which  Jock  interpreted  aright, 
and  said  quickly: 

"Why,  you,  of  course,  Flossie." 

"All  right.  You  have  n't  far  to  go.  Now  then!" 
And  he  lifted  her  into  the  saddle. 

The  incident  gave  him  a  last  twinge  of  pain.    He 


158  Bawbee  Jock 

had  mounted  her  so  often;  they  had  had  many  a 
good  hunt  together. 

"What  a  broad  back!"  said  Angela.  "I  could  n't 
fall  off,  if  I  tried."  She  threw  the  bridle  over  Jock's 
arm.  "  I  'm  going  to  sit  still  and  do  nothing,  and  you 
are  to  lead — always."  Her  voice  dropped  on  the  last 
word. 

The  final  good-bye  had  been  said.  Jock's  fingers 
still  tingled  from  the  grip  of  Flossie's  parting  hand- 
shake, and  his  farewell  words  rang  in  his  ears: 

"Take  care  of  her.  If  you  don't — by  the  Lord, 
I  '11  slay  you  with  my  own  hand!" 

On  the  brow  of  the  hill,  where  he  had  paused  once 
before,  Flossie  stopped  and  looked  back.  They  were 
moving  slowly  down  the  side  of  the  glen;  Jock  with 
the  bridle  over  one  arm,  the  other  thrown  across  the 
pony,  and  his  hand  resting  on  the  saddle,  and  Dileas 
following. 

That  was  the  picture  which  Flossie  carried  away 
with  him;  and  it  remained  ever  in  his  memory — the 
figures  a  little  faint  and  luminous,  not  from  distance, 
but  because  the  eyes  which  saw  them  were  dimmed 
with  tears. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  PROMISED  LAND 

DOWN  the  glen  path,  to  where  the  brown,  peat- 
stained  water  of  the  hill  stream  widened  out 
into  a  shallow  bed  of  pebbly  gravel,  the  little  cavalcade 
wended  its  way.  There  were  stepping-stones  to  cross 
the  stream  by,  slabs  of  rock  which  made  a  natural 
causeway  from  bank  to  bank,  and  Flora  MacDonald, 
the  little  broad-backed  pony,  was  sure-footed  as  a 
mountain  goat. 

"But  she  might  make  a  mistake,"  said  Jock;  and 
so  it  was  safer  that  he  should  put  his  arm  round 
Angela's  waist  and  hold  her  firmly;  and  going  up  the 
steep  side  of  the  hill  opposite  there  was  always  the 
chance  that  she  might  slip  back  in  the  saddle,  and  that 
would  have  been  very  uncomfortable,  so  it  was  better 
that  the  arm  should  remain  where  it  was. 

"  It 's  like  sitting  in  a  rocking-chair,"  said  Angela — 
" a  rocking-chair  with  a  very  funny  back,"  she  added, 
laughing.  "How  strong  you  are!  You  move  so 
steadily,  and  we  are  going  up  a  place  like  the  side  of 
a  house,  and  you  are  not  even  breathing  one  scrap 
quicker." 

" I  'm  accustomed  to  it,"  said  Jock.  "I  have  done 
it  all  my  life." 

"Climbed  hills  with  your  arm  round  a  girl's  waist? 

159 


i6o  Bawbee  Jock 

O  Jock,  what  an  admission!"  And  he  looked  up  at 
her  and  laughed. 

It  pleased  her  to  see  how  well  he  was  beginning 
to  understand  her.  How  the  tears  had  brimmed  up 
to  her  eyes,  she  remembered,  when  she  had  seen  that 
first  smile  flash  across  his  face  and  transfigure  it  to 
positive  beauty.  Now  he  responded;  caught  the 
reflection  of  her  gaiety  and  the  sparkle  of  her  humour. 

"He  has  been  starved  for  want  of  love,"  she  would 
tell  herself.  "  He  is  only  just  beginning  to  know  what 
happiness  is." 

And  so  they  climbed  the  hill  together — not  too 
quickly,  for  there  was  no  need  to  hurry;  and  Angela 
would  make  Jock  turn  Flora  MacDonald  sideways, 
wherever  a  strip  of  level  ground  gave  footing;  and 
they  would  pause  for  some  minutes  and  look  down 
into  the  valley  they  had  left. 

"I  'm  so  glad  you  chose  to  be  married  in  this  kind 
of  way,"  said  Jock.  It  was  the  last  halt  before  breast- 
ing the  topmost  ridge  of  the  hill,  and  he  was  standing 
at  her  side. 

"I  could  not  have  been  married  in  a  more  beautiful 
way,"  she  answered. 

"  But  most  people  would  have  liked  to  have  had  all 
their  friends  round  them,  and — a  show,  and  pretty 
frocks,  and  things  like  that,"  said  Jock.  "I  should 
never  have  dared  to  suggest  that  we  should  be  married 
like  this  myself.  It  was  your  wish.  And  it 's  always 
the  woman  that  chooses  these  things,  is  n't  it?" 

"Yes,  it  was  all  my  doing,"  she  answered.  "But, 
you  see,  there  was  no  one  to  be  considered.  That 
made  a  difference.  If  you  have  crowds  of  relations 
who  want  a  fuss,  you  have  to  himiour  them.     I  had 


The  Promised  Land  i6i 

only  Flossie  to  think  of,  and  he  was  angelic,  was  n't 
he?  So  were  you,"  she  added.  "I  mean  about 
Flossie.  He  hated  giving  me  up.  It  would  not  have 
mattered  whom  it  was  to ;  and  you  let  him  do  things 
for  me,  and  did  not  interfere.  It  was  sweet  of  you 
not  to  mind." 

"But  I  did  mind,"  said  Jock.  "That  time  before 
I  knew  you — cared,  when  I  used  to  come  over  the  hill 
to  carry  you,  and  he  never  let  you  out  of  sight  or 
hearing  for  a  moment,  just  did  n't  I  care !  I  had  to 
go  away  often;  I  could  n't  stand  it." 

"But  you  were  very  good  up  to  the  last.  You  let 
him  mount  me;  that  pleased  him  so  much." 

"I  knew  it  was  the  last,"  said  Jock. 

"And  we  had  no  inquisitive  newspaper  people 
and  photographers  and  staring  crowds,  had  we?" 
continued  Angela. 

"Is  that  what  happens?"  said  Jock.  "I  don't 
know  much  about  weddings." 

"I  don't  suppose  you  ever  read  society  papers,  do 
you?" 

"No,  never,"  he  answered.  An  anxious  look 
crossed  his  face.  "Of  course  I  '11  get  any  papers  you 
want.  You  '11  miss  things  like  that.  I  get  in  a  panic 
sometimes,  and  wonder  if  you  realise  how  isolated 
we  are  up  here.     I  've  dropped  out  of  everything." 

"How  heavenly!"  murmured  Angela. 

They  continued  their  way.  A  few  more  turns  of 
the  zigzag  path,  and  then  the  summit  would  be 
reached. 

"Jock,  I  'm  so  excited,"  exclaimed  Angela.  "I 
wish  my  neck  were  longer,  so  that  I  should  get  my 
first  glimpse  of  the  Promised  Land  a  second  sooner 


1 62  Bawbee  Jock 

than  you.     But  of  course  you  know  what  it 's  like 
I  forgot  that." 

"I  am  as  excited  as  you  are,"  said  Jock.  "And 
I  'm  very  anxious.     You  may  not  like  what  you  see." 

But  he  need  not  have  been  afraid. 

A  minute  later,  with  both  hands  pressing  hard  on 
his  shoulder,  she  was  leaning  over  him,  her  eyes 
sparkling,  and  the  words  tumbling  out  of  her  mouth 
so  fast  that  she  could  not  frame  them  coherently. 

" O  Jock!  why  did  you  not  tell  me  it  was  so  lovely, 
so  perfectly —  I  don't  know  what  to  say.  It  is  not 
a  bit  like  Sheila's  glen.  That  is  so  wild  and  rocky, 
it  might  be  gloomy  sometimes.  But  this!  Isn't  it 
beautiful,  and  peaceful,  and — ?  Is  that  the  loch? 
And  there  are  trees!  They  grow  right  down  to  the 
water's  edge." 

Jock  bent  back  his  head  against  her  arm. 

' '  Are  you  really  pleased  ?  " 

"Pleased!"  She  gave  his  shoulder  a  shake.  Then 
she  dropped  her  voice.  "The  Burying  Island! 
Where  is  that?     Not  that  I  'm  ready  for  it  yet." 

"Do  you  see  where  the  loch  takes  a  bend?"  said 
Jock,  pointing.  "It's  just  round  the  corner  from 
there.  I  '11  row  you  up  some  day.  You  can't  see  it, 
even  from  the  house." 

"I  'm  glad  of  that,"  said  Angela.  "It  might  be 
depressing  always  to  be  reminded  of  yoiir  burying- 
place  every  time  you  looked  out  of  the  window." 
She  waved  her  hand  from  side  to  side.  "It  really 
is  like  the  Promised  Land,  overflowing  with  milk 
and  honey.  Are  n't  those  dear  little  yellow  squares 
cornfields?  And  I  see  cows  grazing  on  the  green 
patches  by  the  side  of  the  lock." 


The  Promised  Land  163 

"You  must  call  it  loch.  You  are  a  Highlander 
now,"  corrected  Jock, 

A  loose  end  of  lace  brushed  his  cheek,  and  he 
smoothed  it  back,  the  pride  of  possession  beginning  to 
dawn  upon  him  with  a  quick  throb. 

But  she  was  gazing  down  at  the  Promised  Land. 

"Is  that  all  your  farm?  And  do  you  cut  the  com 
and  do  everything  yourself?" 

"Yes.  It  will  soon  be  time  to  begin  our  harvest, 
and  then  you  will  see!" 

"I  will  work  too,"  she  exclaimed.  "If  you're  a 
working  man,  I  'm  a  working  man's  wife." 

"It's  pretty  hard  work,"  he  answered.  "You 
may  sit  amongst  the  stooks  and  look  on." 

"Stooks!  What  are  stooks?  Jock,  will  I  ever  come 
to  the  end  of  your  funny  Scotch  words?" 

"Stooks  are  the  bundles  of  corn  after  they  're  cut 
and  tied  up,"  he  explained. 

"And  where  's  the  clachan?  Oh,  I  see!  Where 
that  kind  of  blue  mist  hangs." 

"That  *s  the  peat  smoke.  It  hangs  like  that  on  a 
still  day.  I  'm  so  glad  you  've  seen  the  glen  the  first 
time  on  a  day  like  this.     It — does  look  pretty." 

She  bent  her  head. 

"You  have  often  been  very  lonely  there,  haven't 
you?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered  simply — "very  lonely." 

She  bent  lower. 

"But  now,  when  you  feel  sad  or  unhappy  about 
things,  I  will  be  able  to  comfort  you.  It  will  be  quite 
different  now,  won't  it?" 

The  corners  of  his  mouth  quivered. 

"So  long  as  I  have  you — nothing  else  matters." 


164  Bawbee  Jock 

And  there  was  silence  for  the  space  of  time  that 
twenty  heartbeats  coiild  throb  in  unison. 

Flora  twitched  at  her  bridle  and  swished  her  long 
tail  impatiently.     The  flies  were  annoying  her. 

"Jock  dear!     I  'm  dreadfully  hungry,"  said  Angela. 

"Are  you?"  he  exclaimed  remorsefully,  and  looked 
at  his  watch.  "Why,  it 's  past  two  o'clock!  Lower 
down  there  's  a  spring,  and  a  place  where  we  can 
lunch." 

"I  hope  it  *s  a  shady  place,"  said  Angela.  "It 's 
ever  so  much  hotter  on  this  side  of  the  hill  than  it  is  on 
the  other." 

"This  is  the  sunniest  glen  in  the  Highlands," 
answered  Jock.  He  brought  his  hand  down  on  Flora's 
shaggy  quarters.  "Come  up,  old  girl,"  he  said;  and 
Flora  moved  forward.  A  few  more  turns  of  the  path 
and  he  led  her  round  the  comer  of  a  great  rock  which 
jutted  out  from  the  hillside.  "Here  is  our  dining- 
room  !  All  in  the  shade ;  a  carpet  of  bluebells  for  your 
feet,  and  the  spring  bubbles  up  by  that  big  grey  stone. 
I  *ve  passed  this  place  many  a  time ;  I  little  thought 
I  should  eat  my  wedding  breakfast  here." 

He  lifted  her  from  Flora's  back,  and  the  brown 
basket  was  unstrapped,  and  a  tartan  plaid  that  had 
been  rolled  up  on  the  saddle  was  shaken  out  and  spread 
on  the  soft  turf  for  her  to  sit  on. 

"  I  don't  think  the  groimd  is  damp,"  he  said,  "  but  it 
might  feel  chilly." 

Angela  picked  up  a  fold  of  the  plaid  and  held  it 
against  his  kilt. 

"It 's  the  same,"  she  said. 

"You  don't  expect  I  'd  let  you  sit  on  any  tartan 
except  my  own,"  he  answered  in  astonishment.     He 


The  Promised  Land  165 

threw  an  end  of  the  plaid  over  her  shoulder.  "  There ! 
You  're  christened.  A  true  Highlander!  That  used 
to]be  my  regimental  plaid.     It 's  yours  now." 

She  looked  up  at  him  and  smiled,  and  rubbed  her 
cheek  against  the  tartan. 

"  I  like  the  feel  of  it,"  she  said.  "And  oh,  Jock  dear, 
the  Highland  air  does  make  you  hungry.  Have  you 
got  the  last  strap  of  that  basket  undone?  Do  open  it 
quick  and  let  us  see  what  is  inside." 

There  was  everything  inside  which  the  most 
epicurean  bride  and  bridegroom  could  possibly  have 
desired  for  their  honeymoon  lunch.  Jock  did  all  the 
unpacking  and  laying  out  of  the  table,  and  was  very 
much  in  earnest  over  it. 

"I  am  accustomed  to  waiting  on  myself,"  he  said, 
when  Angela  remarked  on  his  neatness.  "  But  I  shall 
have  to  be  more  particular  now  that  I  have  you." 

"You  don't  want  much  training,"  she  answered. 
"Flossie  has  been  very  extravagant!  I  wonder  how 
he  managed  to  get  all  these  delicious  things.  The 
Trojan  never  cooked  them,  I  'm  sure!"  She  peeped 
into  the  basket.  "And  these  bottles! — what  can  be 
inside  them?  They  are  for  you.  He  knows  I  don't 
like  any  kind  of  drinks.  Do  you  think  the  water  in 
that  spring  will  be  nice  and  cool?    I  'm  so  thirsty." 

"  It 's  always  cool.  It 's  like  ice  on  the  hottest  day 
in  summer,"  said  Jock.  And  he  dipped  a  timibler  in 
the  cup-like  basin  of  the  spring,  and  brought  it  to  her 
with  the  misty  vapour  rimming  the  edge,  and  laid  it 
beside  her  plate. 

They  spent  a  long  time  over  their  wedding  lunch. 
On  that  never-to-be-forgotten  day  of  days  the  hours 
were  so  precious  that  each  one  must  be  lived  to  the 


1 66  Bawbee  Jock 

full,  and  not  the  fragment  of  a  moment  slurred  over 
or  hurried. 

"Jock,  you  have  not  even  looked  at  the  labels  of 
these  tempting  bottles  that  Flossie  has  provided  for 
you  so  carefully,"  said  Angela. 

"Whiskey 's  good  enough  for  me,"  said  Jock.  "  And 
that  spring  water  was  nice  and  cool,  was  n't  it?  Shall 
I  fetch  you  some  to  dabble  your  fingers  in?  " 

She  said  "  Yes."  And  he  brought  her  the  water  in  a 
dish  which  he  found  in  the  brown  basket  amongst  the 
tea  things,  and  he  dried  her  fingers  for  her — very  care- 
fully; and  then,  lying  down  on  the  grass,  he  pillowed 
his  head  on  his  arms. 

"We  won't  tidy  up  yet,"  he  said.  "There's 
nothing  to  hurry  for." 

No,  there  was  nothing  to  hurry  for.  Flora,  with  the 
reins  twisted  loosely  round  the  pommel  of  her  saddle, 
was  cropping  the  sweet  hill  grass  a  few  yards  away. 
She  would  come  at  Jock's  call,  and  the  Promised 
Land,  in  the  valley  below,  was  within  reach  whenever 
they  chose  to  go  down  and  take  possession  of  it. 

"Don't  you  want  to  smoke?"  said  Angela.  "Do 
you  know,  I  don't  remember  ever  to  have  seen  you 
with  a  cigarette  in  your  mouth." 

"Too  expensive  a  luxury  for  a  working  man,"  said 
Jock.     "I  smoke  a  pipe  when  I  want  to  smoke." 

"How  funny  it  will  be  finding  out  otir  likes  and  dis- 
likes, and  the  things  that  we  agree  about  and  disagree 
about,"  said  Angela.  She  was  looking  down  at  him, 
her  chin  in  her  hand  and  her  elbow  on  her  knee.  She 
shook  her  head  meditatively.  "  I  shall  be  much  more 
difficult  to  find  out  than  you.  I  shall  always  be  giving 
you  shocks  and  surprises.     You  are  so  single-minded. 


The  Promised  Land  167 

A  thing  is  either  right  or  wrong.  Women  are  more 
subtle  in  the  way  they  get  what  they  want  than  men. 
When  I  give  you  shocks,  you  will  look  at  me  with  that 
terribly  intense  look  in  your  eyes  which  makes  them  so 
blue,  and  I  shall  feel  very  small  and  hate  myself!'* 
She  laughed  at  his  expression.  "Yes,  I  often  hate 
myself,"  she  said.  "  I  often  hate  myself  so  much  that 
I  shotdd  like  to  go  and  drown  myself." 

"Angela!"  protested  Jock. 

"Angela?"  she  echoed.  "You  so  seldom  call  me 
by  my  name." 

"  It 's  because  I  have  all  kinds  of  names  for  you  that 
I  never  speak  out  loud,"  said  Jock.  He  moved  his 
head  nearer  to  her,  and  his  bonnet  fell  off,  and  she 
picked  it  up. 

She  laid  it  on  her  lap  and  gave  it  a  pat. 

"It  likes  lying  there,"  she  said,  watching  him. 
"Are  n't  you  sorry  your  head  is  n't  inside  it  now?" 

Jock  looked  at  his  blue  bonnet  longingly;  and 
then: 

"You're  an  old  goose,"  she  said  a  few  minutes 
later.  "I  believe  you  've  wanted  to  lay  your  head 
there  all  along!     Have  n't  you?" 

Jock  was  gazing  up  at  her,  an  adoring  awe  on  his 
face. 

"If  you  could  only  see  how  you  look  from  where  I 
see  you!"  he  said.  "The  brim  of  your  hat  makes  a 
kind  of " 

"Hal-loo!"  suggested  Angela. 

But  he  was  too  much  in  earnest  to  be  put  off  with 
flippancy. 

"Yes,  it's  the  kind  of  pale  gold  that  halos  are  made 
of.    And  your  hair  looks  so  soft  against  it.    And  a 


1 68  Bawbee  Jock 

bit  of  blue  ribbon  is  hanging  over  the  edge,  just  the 
same  colour  as  the  sky,  as  if " 

"  As  if  a  cherub  had  chipped  off  a  bit  and  tumbled  it 
down  on  the  top  of  me,"  laughed  Angela.  "Jock, 
what  a  ridiculous  creature  you  are !  You  ought  to  be 
a  poet." 

"And  there  's  a  piece  of  white  heather  sticking  in 
your  hair,"  continued  Jock,  "just  behind  your  ear. 
Oh,  don't  take  it  off!" 

He  tried  to  catch  her  hand,  but  Angela  fotmd  the 
piece  of  white  heather. 

"It  clings  so  firmly  with  its  little  spikes,"  she  said. 
"  It  was  such  a  pretty  idea  of  yours  to  lay  my  wedding 
wreath  on  my  window-sill.  It  was  the  first  thing  that 
greeted  me  in  the  morning  when  I  looked  out." 

She  disentangled  the  bit  of  heather,  and  bending 
over  him,  she  fastened  it  into  his  coat.  Then  she  did 
what  she  had  never  done  before,  for  during  the  days  of 
their  brief  engagement  she  had  lavished  few  caresses 
upon  him.  She  laid  her  hand  on  his  hair  and  smoothed 
it  back  with  a  tender  touch.  It  was  her  left  hand,  and 
he  could  feel  the  pressure  of  her  wedding  ring  against 
his  brow.  He  shut  his  eyes ;  he  could  hardly  bear  the 
thrill  of  ecstasy  which  trembled  through  every  nerve. 

When  he  opened  his  eyes  again  and  looked  up,  she 
was  still  bending  over  him.  A  luminous  light  seemed 
to  float  above  and  around  her,  wrapping  him  too  in  its 
radiance. 

He  stretched  up  his  arms  and  drew  her  face  down  to 
his. 

"Is  it — can  it  really  be  true  that  you  are — my 
wife?"  he  whispered. 

"I  hope  so,"  she  whispered  back. 


The  Promised  Land  169 

"Are  you  happy?"  he  murmured.  "Kiss  me,  and 
tell  me  that  you  are  happy." 

"Very  happy,"  and  she  kissed  him — soft  kisses 
which  fell  like  scented  rose-leaves  when  shaken  by  the 
summer's  breeze. 

He  could  not  see  her  face  now;  he  had  drawn  her  so 
near. 

"  Say  it  again — tell  me  that  you  are  happy." 

"I  am  happy — very  happy."  She  breathed  the 
words  low  in  his  ear.  "I  want  to  hold  the  time — it 
goes  so  quickly.  I  am  living  at  my  heart's  door — 
you  are  my  heart's  door." 

Her  lips  parted,  andrested  with  a  fluttering  sigh  on 
his  closed  eyelids. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

EXPLORING  THE  NEW  HOME 

THE  last  halting-place  was  at  the  head  of  the  glen 
where  the  stream,  which  they  had  crossed  early 
in  the  day,  poiired  its  brown  waters  into  the  deeper 
depths  of  the  loch. 

They  were  so  near  home  that  Jock  suggested  that,  if 
Angela  wished,  they  could  push  on  and  be  under  their 
own  roof  in  time  for  tea;  but,  like  a  child  who  is  keep- 
ing its  greatest  treat  to  the  last,  she  said  "No";  that 
they  would  spend  the  whole  day  out-of-doors;  and  it 
was  only  when  the  sun  had  begun  to  dip  towards  the 
hilltops  that  they  turned  their  faces  homewards. 

"How  long  will  it  take?  I  am  more  excited  than 
ever  now.  I  can  hardly  bear  to  look,"  said  Angela, 
as  he  lifted  her  into  the  saddle  for  the  last  time. 
"Dileas  is  getting  excited  too."  She  stooped  to 
caress  the  old  hound,  who  had  brushed  up  to  her 
stirrup.  "He  has  been  so  solemn  all  day  and  so 
dreadfully  proper.  Do  you  think  he 's  jealous, 
Jock?" 

"No;  he  knows  all  about  it,"  answered  Jock,  pulling 
the  dog's  ear.  "It  was  I  who  used  to  be  jealous,  of 
him.  Do  you  remember  when  you  kissed  his  nose  that 
time  for  finding  you?  After  that  I  was  always  telling 
him  what  a  lucky  dog  he  was." 

170 


Exploring  the  New  Home         171 

A  few  minutes  later  they  struck  into  the  road  which 
wound  along  by  the  side  of  the  loch. 

"A  real  road!"  said  Angela;  "and  so  smooth  and 
yellow,  like  a  gold  thread.  Where  does  it  come  from? 
And  where  does  it  go  to?" 

"It  branches  off  from  the  main  road  miles  away,  and 
it  goes  no  farther  than  the  clachan.  It  loses  itself  in 
the  loch,"  answered  Jock.  "We  are  never  bothered 
with  strangers  here." 

"What  a  blessing!"  murmured  Angela. 

It  was  a  typically  lovely  bit  of  Highland  loch- 
scenery  which  they  were  traversing.  The  road  ran 
close  to  the  water's  edge,  and  on  the  right  the  ground 
rose  in  a  gentle  slope,  and  was  thickly  wooded  with 
a  natural  growth  of  oak  and  birch.  As  the  glen 
widened,  the  hilltops  came  into  view  above  the  fringe 
of  green;  and  stray  gleams  of  sunshine,  peeping  through 
the  overhanging  branches,  laid  shafts  of  light  on  the 
emerald  carpet  of  close  turf  which  bordered  the  sandy 
margin  of  the  road.  Tumbled  masses  of  grey  rock 
were  scattered  thickly  amongst  the  green ;  bramble  and 
woodbine,  showing  the  first  faint  tinge  of  autumn, 
dipped  to  the  water's  rim;  and  over  the  mirrored  sur- 
face of  the  loch  the  shadows  were  beginning  to  deepen 
into  inky  pools  of  depth  and  mystery. 

They  left  the  trees  behind  them,  and,  turning  the 
corner  of  a  grassy  knoll,  they  came  upon  a  cobble- 
stoned  jetty  which  ran  out  into  the  water.  Alongside 
of  it  was  a  boat-house,  brown  and  weather-stained; 
and  a  picturesque  litter  of  boat-gear  and  fallen  timber 
lay  scattered  on  the  shingle  round  it.  A  few  paces 
farther  on  Flora  stopped  of  her  own  accord  before  a 
white  gate. 


172  Bawbee  Jock 

"Oh!"  was  all  that  Angela  found  breath  to  exclaim, 
and  she  caught  hold  of  Jock's  shoulder.  A  couple  of 
quaint  round  pillars,  whitewashed,  and  with  odd  little 
tiled  roofs  like  pepper  pots,  supported  either  side  of  the 
gate.  Just  inside  the  gate  two  old  holly  trees,  bulging 
below,  and  then  narrowing  upwards,  joined  their  taper- 
ing heads  in  an  arch;  and  in  and  out  of  the  dark  glisten- 
ing leaves,  flaming  wreaths  of  tropaeolum  twined  their 
scarlet  tendrils.  "Holly! — the  badge!"  said  Angela. 
"You  always  pass  under  it,  every  time  you  go  in  and 
out.  How  pretty!"  She  stretched  forward.  "And 
a  garden!  I  smell  such  sweet  things.  Oh,  Jock,  help 
me  down,  quick,  so  that  I  can  get  inside  the  gate." 

"Welcome — to  your  home,"  he  said,  as  he  lifted  her 
from  the  saddle. 

She  had  only  time  to  give  him  a  fleeting  kiss  as  she 
slipped  through  his  arms,  and  then  found,  to  her  con- 
sternation, that  a  strange  man  was  standing  by  Flora's 
head,  holding  his  cap  in  his  hand  and  making  her  a 
very  polite  bow. 

"I  must  introduce  you  to  Hamish,"  said  Jock,  and 
added  in  an  undertone.  "He's  my — kind  of  odd- 
man.  He's  come  to  take  the  pony.  You  won't 
understand  his  Gaelic  welcome,  but — just  shake 
hands  with  him  and  he  '11  be  so  pleased." 

Hamish  spoke  in  Gaelic  and  Angela  spoke  in 
English,  but  they  understood  each  other  perfectly; 
and  the  poetic  soul  of  the  Highlander  was  fired  with 
admiration,  and  he  went  off  with  his  hand  on  Flora's 
neck  muttering  blessings  on  the  beautiful  head  of  his 
chief's  young  bride. 

"Now,"  said  Angela,  as  Jock  opened  the  gate — 
"now  I  think  you  had  better  hold  my  hand,  because 


Exploring  the  New  Home         173 

I  shall  want  to  run  about  everywhere,  and  then  I  '11 
tumble  into  something  and  sprain  my  ankle  all  over 
again ;  and  I  've  no  more  use  for  sprained  ankles,  have 
I?" 

"Never  fear!  I  won't  let  you  out  of  my  reach," 
said  Jock;  and  he  took  the  little  hand  in  his,  and  they 
passed  under  the  holly  arch,  with  its  wreaths  of  flam- 
ing scarlet  making  a  banner  of  glory  above  their  heads, 
and  walked  up  the  pathway. 

It  was  a  beautiftilly  smooth  pathway,  and  sloped 
gently  upwards  and  was  bordered  by  neatly  clipped 
box;  a  luxurious  wealth  of  old-fashioned  flowers  grew 
on  either  side  of  it ;  and  the  mellow  light  of  the  setting 
sun  bathed  all  in  a  glow  of  colour. 

Half-way  up  the  pathway  Angela  stopped,  and 
looked  up  at  the  house  which  was  to  be  her  home. 

It  was  a  square,  whitewashed  house,  with  a  window 
on  each  side  of  the  door,  and  two  smaller  windows 
blinked  from  under  the  overhanging  eaves  above.  At 
either  comer  were  rounded  gables  with  the  same  kind 
of  odd,  pepper-pot  tiled  roofs  as  topped  the  pillars  by 
the  gate.  Jessamine  and  honeysuckle  twined  thickly 
together  over  the  porch;  and  the  windows  stood  wide 
open,  as  did  the  door,  in  hospitable  welcome. 

"It 's  the  darlingest  house,  and  the  darlingest  gar- 
den, and — and  you  are  the  darlingest  bit  of  it  all," 
said  Angela,  squeezing  Jock's  fingers  hard.  "But  oh, 
Jock!  I  am  finding  out  every  minute  more  and  more 
what  a  dark  horse  you  are.  How  deep  you  have  been ! 
You  never  gave  me  the  least  idea  that  it  was  like  this." 
She  gazed  up  at  the  house.  Its  old-fashioned  sim- 
plicity fascinated  her.  "Jock,  are  all  Highland 
farmhouses  as  nice  as  this?" 


174  Bawbee  Jock 

Jock  was  watching  her  face.  Her  appreciation  was 
so  sweet  to  him. 

"It's  not  an  ordinary  farmhouse,"  he  explained. 
"It  has  always  been  used  as  a  kind  of  dower-house. 
An  old  aunt  of  my  father's  lived  here  for  many  years. 
She  was  a  wonderful  old  lady.  She  had  all  the  history 
of  the  family  and  the  clan  at  her  finger-ends,  and 
she  was  a  great  authority  on  everything  Highland. 
People  used  to  come  from  far  to  see  her.  You  would 
be  surprised  if  I  were  to  tell  you  the  names  of  the 
celebrities  who  have  walked  up  this  garden  path." 
He  looked  back  over  his  shoulder.  "Most  gracious 
Royalty  has  passed  under  that  holly  arch." 

Angela  turned  and  looked  back  also. 

"And  I  expect  most  gracious  Royalty  felt  very 
proud  of  being  a  little  bit  Highland.  I  am  trying  to 
be  a  Highlander  as  quick  as  ever  I  can.  Come!" 
She  pulled  him  with  her.  "Let  us  go  in.  I  must  not 
use  up  all  my  admiration  before  I  get  into  the  house." 

On  the  doorstep  a  surprise  greeted  them.  Sheila 
stepped  out,  and  stretching  up  her  arms  to  their 
highest,  she  broke  a  large  oatcake  over  Angela,  and  a 
deluge  of  crumbs  descended  on  the  bride's  head. 

"Oh!  what  is  that?"  cried  Angela.  "Is  the  ceiling 
tumbling  down?" 

Jock  laughed. 

"  Sheila's  broken  an  oatcake  over  your  head  for  luck. 
It 's  an  old  custom.  You  see  what  Scotch  brides  have 
to  undergo!  It  broke  beautifully,"  he  said,  turning 
to  address  Sheila. 

But  Sheila  had  vanished  as  mysteriously  as  she  had 
appeared,  and  Angela  stepped  across  the  threshold  of 
her  new  home. 


Exploring  the  New  Home        175 

There  was  no  vestibule,  no  strange  doors  to  open. 
She  found  herself  standing  in  the  middle  of  a  square 
hall,  the  walls  of  which  were  almost  covered  with 
the  miscellaneous  collection  of  things  which  stamp  a 
man's  tastes  on  his  stirroundings.  A  row  of  stags* 
heads  made  a  kind  of  frieze  below  the  line  of  the  ceil- 
ing; Jock's  guns  and  fishing-rods  were  arranged  in 
their  stands,  facing  the  door;  and  a  half-length 
portrait  of  his  father  hung  over  the  mantelpiece.  A 
skin  rug  lay  on  the  stone  flags  in  front  of  the  old- 
fashioned  fireplace,  which  Dileas  took  possession  of  as 
his  right. 

In  the  middle  of  the  hall  a  round  table  was  set, 
ready  for  a  meal;  the  table-cloth  was  of  the  finest 
damask,  and  the  silver  was  of  a  beautiful  pattern,  old 
and  rare.  In  the  centre  stood  a  bowl  of  bluebells 
and  heather.  The  table  was  laid  for  two;  and  two 
high-backed  chairs,  with  carved  tops,  were  drawn  up 
to  it,  facing  each  other. 

Jock  looked  anxiously  at  Angela. 

"This  has  to  do  duty  as  a  dining-room,"  he  said. 
"  I  made  it  like  this.  There  used  to  be  a  kind  of  par- 
lour here,  and  I  knocked  it  all  away.  The  stair  goes 
up  behind  that  leather  screen ;  and  there  's  a  door  leads 
into  the  kitchen!  I  try  to  save  Sheila  the  trouble  of 
carrying  things  and  answering  bells." 

Angela  slipped  away  from  him  and  made  a  tour  of 
the  hall  by  herself,  looking  behind  the  screen  and 
through  the  door  into  the  kitchen  and  into  all  the 
corners,  even  up  the  wide  chimney,  and  then  came 
back  to  him. 

"I  feel  as  though  I  ought  to  walk  on  tiptoe  and 
speak  in  a  whisper,"  she  said.     "It 's  like  playing  at 


176  Bawbee  Jock 

a  game  of  exploring  when  you  don't  know  what  *s 
going  to  jump  out  at  you  from  some  hiding-place. 
Where  does  that  other  door  lead  to?" 

"That's  my  sitting-room — my  own  particular 
den,"  said  Jock.  "But — you  have  n't  said  what  you 
think  about  this.     Are  you  disappointed?" 

"Hush! — don't  ask  me  questions  just  now,"  she 
answered.  "My  head  is  so  full  of  new  things  I  can't 
speak  properly.  But — I  'm  enjoying  myself  more 
than  I  ever  did  in  all  my  life  before." 

Jock  opened  the  door  of  his  den  and  allowed  her  to 
pass  in  in  front  of  him. 

She  stood  for  a  moment,  and  then  turned  herself 
round  slowly. 

"You  Sybarite!"  she  exclaimed. 

It  was  a  delightful  room,  although  it  was  essentially 
a  man's  room;  everything  in  it  was  meant  for  use. 
The  colouring  was  soft  and  mellow  because  there  was 
nothing  new  in  it.  The  lower  part  of  the  walls  were 
lined  with  well-filled  book-shelves,  and  some  good 
sporting  prints  and  engravings  filled  the  spaces  above. 
The  fumittire  was  comfortable,  and  bore  the  stamp 
of  an  old-world,  refined  simplicity. 

"Books!"  said  Angela,  walking  across  to  the 
shelves.  "  I  'm  so  glad  you  love  books.  So  do  I.  I  see 
heaps  of  old  friends.    How  did  you  collect  such  a  lot?  " 

"  I  brought  most  of  them  with  me  from  Glenmoira," 
answered  Jock.  "I  've  managed  to  add  a  few  new 
ones  now  and  again.  I  get  through  a  lot  of  reading  in 
the  winter  nights."  He  came  over  and  stood  beside 
her.  "The  days  are  very  short  up  here  in  the  winter. 
There  will  be  lots  of  spare  time  on  your  hands.  I  'm 
afraid  you  '11  find  that  out." 


Exploring  the  New  Home        177 

Angela  shook  her  head. 

"  Don't  you  fuss  over  the  idea  that  I  shall  be  dull, 
even  if  it 's  dark  for  six  months  out  of  the  twelve. 
I]'m  never  dull.  I  never  allow  myself  to  be  dull!" 
She  took  his  arm,  and  leading  him  over  to  the  window 
made  him  stand  beside  her,  facing  the  room.  "You 
call  this  your  den,"  she  said.  "You  don't  expect  you 
are  going  to  keep  me  out  of  it,  do  you?  Where  is  my 
comer  to  be?" 

"I  hoped  you  would  have  found  that  out  for  your- 
self," said  Jock.  "There!  That  little  sofa  by  the 
fireplace.  It  was  n't  in  the  room  before.  I  got  it 
for — you.  I  thought  it  would  be  better  than  a  chair, 
in  case  your  ankle  bothered  you.  You  might  want  to 
rest  it  sometimes." 

"How  sweet  of  you  to  think  of  that,"  she  said, 
touched  by  his  thought  for  her.  "It 's  a  dear  little 
sofa ;  and  what  a  beautif ill  cushion !  So  big  and  downy 
and  such  a  lovely  shade  of  green."  She  crossed  the 
room  and  looked  at  the  cushion  more  closely.  "It  *s 
all  embroidered.  Some  one  has  worked  the  badge 
on  it — a  wreath  of  holly  leaves.     How  pretty!" 

Jock  looked  very  gratified. 

"Christina  worked  it.  She  gave  me  that  cushion. 
I  'm  so  glad  you  think  it 's  pretty." 

Angela  dropped  the  cushion  and  wheeled  round. 

"Who  's  Christina?"  she  demanded. 

"Oh!  she  's  just  Christina,"  answered  Jock.  "She 
gave  it  to  me  yesterday.  You  '11  love  Christina,"  he 
added. 

"Christina,"  echoed  Angela.  "I  never  heard  you 
mention  Christina  before.  I  thought  you  said  you  had 
no  friends,  neighbours,  up  here?"     She  took  hold  of 


178  Bawbee  Jock 

the  flap  of  his  coat  collar.     "Jock!  what  girl  worked 
you  that  cushion?" 

' '  Girl ! ' '  Jock  collapsed  on  to  a  chair.  ' '  Christina ! 
A  giri!  She  *s  old  MacPherson's  sister.  She — she  's 
about  fifty!" 

"Make  her  sixty,  and  I  '11  adore  her,"  said  Angela. 
She  patted  him  on  the  back.  "If  you  keep  on  laugh- 
ing like  that  you  '11  hurt  yourself ;  and  I  want  to  go  on 
exploring.  I  have  n't  half  finished  the  house.  What 
comes  next?" 

"Not  very  much,"  said  Jock.  "It's  very  small. 
There  's  the  kitchen  behind  this — you  've  seen  that ;  I 
saw  you  peeping — and  upstairs.  The  stair  is  very 
steep,  and  twists  round  and  round.  Shall  I  carry 
you?" 

Angela  laughed  and  ran  past  him,  out  of  the  room, 
and  across  the  hall,  and  was  up  the  first  two  steps  of 
the  stairs  before  he  could  overtake  her. 
■  "It 's  like  a  doll's  staircase,"  she  said.  "It 's  the 
right  size  for  me,  but  you  're  too  big.  Why,  I  'm  up 
to  the  top  already!  What  a  funny  landing,  with  a 
window  like  a  shaving-glass  in  the  roof !  Two  doors ! 
May  I  open  them  and  look  in?" 

Jock  barred  her  way,  and  kept  his  hold  on  the 
handle  of  the  door  nearest  to  her. 

"  This  will  be  your  room,"  he  said.  "  I  'm  so  afraid 
you  won't  like  it.  It  was  the  aunt's,  and  she  brought 
her  own  furniture  with  her  from  Glenmoira,  and  it 's 
rather  big  for  the  room." 

He  half-opened  the  door,  and  Angela  crept  in  past 
him  cautiously.  She  gave  a  gasp,  and  sitting  down  on 
a  chair  which  stood  conveniently  near,  began  to  laugh, 
and  went  on  laughing. 


Exploring  the  New  Home        179 

"0  Jock!"  she  murmured,  "how  did  it  ever  get  in? 
Was  it  dropped  through  the  ceiling,  or  did  it  grow 
there?  I  never  saw  such  a  monstrous  thing  in  all  my 
Hfe." 

Almost  the  entire  flooring  space  of  the  room  was 
occupied  by  a  huge  four-post  bed.  The  canopy,  which 
was  of  dark  oak,  and  from  which  hung  richly  em- 
broidered silk  curtains,  was  supported  on  carved 
pillars;  and  a  crest  and  coat-of-arms  was  emblazoned 
on  the  centre  panel  of  the  head-piece. 

"There  is  hardly  any  room  to  walk  round  it,"  con- 
tinued Angela  hysterically.  "Jock,  it's  a  wonder! 
It  ought  to  be  sent  to  a  show!  Is  it  a  family 
heirloom?" 

Jock  was  leaning  against  the  door,  and  gazing  at  his 
ancestral  possession  very  seriously. 

"I  think  the  aunt  considered  it  a  kind  of  heirloom. 
She  was  very  proud  of  it.  I  've  heard  my  father  say 
it  took  days  to  flit  it  over  from  Glenmoira.  I  've  seen 
her  often  in  it.  She  used  to  have  kind  of  receptions  up 
here.     She  had  the  second  sight,  you  know." 

"Second  sight  1    What 's  that? "  asked  Angela. 

Jock  looked  puzzled.  "Haven't  you  heard  of  it? 
Well,  no,  perhaps  not;  it 's  peculiarly  Highland,  I  sup- 
pose. It 's  a  kind  of  extra  sense.  Being  able  to  see 
beyond  the  present — to  foretell  what 's  going  to 
happen ;  or  to  have  the  knowledge  conveyed  to  you  of 
something  that  is  happening  to  some  one  when  they 
are  not  present  with  you — maybe  at  the  other  end  of 
the  world." 

Angela  drew  closer  to  him. 

"I  can  almost  imagine  I  see  her  sitting  up  under 
that  great  canopy,  and  telling  people  things,"  she 


i8o 


Bawbee  Jock 


said.  "I  wonder  what  gave  her  the  power  of  second 
sight?" 

"They  say  it 's  hereditary,"  answered  Jock. 

"Have  you  got  it?"  asked  Angela,  drawing  still 
closer  to  him. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said.  " I  Ve  never  tried  to  find 
out.  She  had  it  to  an  extraordinary  extent ;  but  then 
she  cultivated  it,  and  her  power  for  healing  the  sick. 
The  people  in  the  glens  up  here  believed  in  her  as 
though  she  were  inspired." 

"How  extraordinary!"  murmured  Angela.  "I've 
read  of  such  things,  but  I  'm  never  quite  sure  if  I  could 
make  myself  believe  them.  Jock!  How  would  you 
know  if  you  had  it — second  sight,  I  mean,  and  the 
power  of  healing?  I — I  don't  know  whether  I  want 
you  to  have  it.  Hold  my  hand  tight,  please,  if  you  're 
going  to  say  anything  creepy." 

Jock  held  her  hand  very  tight. 

"You  need  not  be  frightened,"  he  said.  "I  could 
never  harm  you,  even  if  I  had  the  power.  She  always 
used  to  say  that  it  was  quite  simple.  That  she  learnt 
her  knowledge  from  studying  nature,  and  from  her 
faith  in  prayer.  She  was  a  very  good  woman.  There 
was  nothing  creepy  or  uncomfortable  about  her. "  He 
hesitated.  "It  is  said  such  things  are  hereditary. 
But  I  don't  know  that  I  would  like  it  to  come  out  in 
me.  I  should  be  afraid  in  case  I  did  not  make  as  good 
a  use  of  it  as  she  did." 

"I  would  n't  be  afraid  of  you,"  said  Angela.  "And 
you  remember  her  quite  well?" 

' '  Quite  well .  She  was  a  little  woman — smaller  even 
than  you." 

"Even  than  me!    What  disparagement!" 


Exploring  the  New  Home        i8i 

She  disengaged  her  hand,  and  began  to  make  a 
cautious  progress  round  the  four-poster. 

"If  I  walk  very  carefully,  I  can  just  keep  from 
bumping  into  it.  There  's  more  space  than  you  would 
imagine.  And — O  Jock,  this  little  towery  place,  that 
looks  like  a  pepper-pot  from  the  outside,  has  such  a 
duck  of  a  dressing-table  in  it,  with  a  looking-glass 
like  a  heart."  She  ran  back  to  where  he  was  still 
leaning  against  the  door.  "Do  take  that  anxious 
expression  off  your  face,"  she  said.  "  I  'm  delighted — 
charmed.  The  aunt's  legacies  are  priceless.  Now 
what  comes  next?  Where  does  that  other  door  lead 
to? — that  one  across  the  landing?"  And  she  tried  to 
look  behind  his  shoulder. 

"That 's  my  room,"  said  Jock.  " I  hope  it 's  tidy." 
And  he  opened  the  door. 

The  room  was  austerely  tidy. 

Angela  gave  a  delighted  scream,  and  pounced  on 
something  which  was  sticking  out  of  the  pocket  of  a 
coat  hanging  on  the  door. 

"My  boot!"  she  exclaimed;  "and  I  've  wondered 
and  wondered  what  had  become  of  it.  You  snipped 
the  laces  all  to  ribbons.     Such  extravagance!" 

But  Jock  was  too  quick  for  her.  She  might  as  well 
have  tried  to  loosen  an  iron  band  as  the  strong  fingers 
which  closed  over  that  little  brown  boot. 

"I  would  n't  part  with  it! — not  for  anything  in  the 
wide  world,"  he  declared.  "No!"  as  she  held  up  her 
face — "not  for  a  dozen!" 

"But  Jock,  it 's  such  a  waste!  The  other  one  is 
quite  good.  It  makes  me  feel  like  a  one-legged  woman. 
I  shall  have  to  throw  it  away." 

"I  don't  care,"  said  Jock.     "You  may  do  what  you 


1 82  Bawbee  Jock 

like  with  it;  but  I  shall  stick  to  my  boot.  It  lives  in 
that  pocket.     I  like  it  to  hang  there." 

A  bell  tinkled  below. 

"What's  that?"  asked  Angela  in  alarm.  "Not 
visitors?" 

"  It 's  dinner,"  said  Jock.  "We  've  been  forgetting 
how  late  it  is." 

"And  I  have  n't  unpacked  anything.  There  is  n't 
time  now.  You  must  lend  me  a  brush  to  tidy  my  hair." 

She  departed  with  the  brush  and  vanished  into  her 
own  room. 

They  found  dinner  waiting  for  them  on  the  round 
table  in  the  hall ;  and  Jock  pulled  out  one  of  the  high- 
backed  chairs  for  her,  and  then,  seating  himself  in  the 
one  opposite,  he  bowed  his  head  and  said  grace — a 
very  short  grace. 

"He  doesn't  gabble.  I  love  the  way  he  says  it," 
whispered  Angela  to  herself. 

He  waited  upon  her,  as  he  had  done  at  lunch,  and 
the  meal  was  a  very  simple  one.  When  they  were 
finished  with  one  course,  he  rang  a  small  bell  which 
stood  beside  his  plate,  and  Sheila  knew  what  was 
wanted. 

"Do  you  sweep  up  the  crumbs  at  the  end?"  asked 
Angela,  when  the  bell  had  tinkled  for  the  last  time. 

She  did  not  wait  for  an  answer,  but  rising  swiftly, 
she  came  round  to  his  chair  and,  perching  herself  on 
the  arm,  kissed  the  top  of  his  head. 

"Waiters  always  get  tips,"  she  said.  "And  honey- 
mooners  are  supposed  to  give  extra  good  ones.  That's 
yours !  You  make  a  perfect  waiter,  Jock — so  nice  and 
quiet.  You  walk  so  lightly;  I  think  it  has  something 
to  do  with  the  swing  of  your  kilt." 


Exploring  the  New  Home        183 

For  answer  he  put  his  arm  round  her,  and  held  her 
to  him. 

"Has  n't  it  been  a  perfect  wedding-day?"  she 
said,  sinking  her  voice.  "So  peaceful  and  beautiful. 
Think  of  the  poor  people  who  have  the  ordinary  kind 
of  wedding.  No  one  has  done  a  single  thing  for  me, 
except — you." 

He  drew  her  closer. 

"Yes!  I  've  had  you  all  to  myself.  Nothing  has 
come  between  us." 

She  was  silent  for  a  minute  and  then  said : 

"I  think  that 's  it.  People  get  very  near  to  each 
other  when  there  is  nothing  to  come  between.  I  mean 
nothing  sordid  or  mercenary,  like — like  money.  Don't 
you  think  so?" 

He  did  not  answer,  and  she  bent  to  see  his  face. 

"What  are  you  thinking  about?"  she  asked. 

He  caught  her  to  him,  and  then  held  her  back, 
searching  her  face  with  a  passionate  entreaty  of 
question. 

"Will  I  be  able  to  make  you  happy?  I — am  afraid 
when  I  think  of  what  I  have  asked  you  to  share." 

"Dear,"  she  whispered,  "I  love  my  home,  every 
bit  of  it." 

There  was  a  tremble  in  her  voice  and  a  shining 
tenderness  in  her  eyes. 

"It  is  so  little  that  I  have  to  give  you,"  he  said; 
"and — supposing — supposing  I  was  forced  into  selling 
the  place?     That  always  hangs  over  me." 

"Whatever  happens,  I  should  always  have  you," 
she  answered. 

He  leant  his  head  against  the  lace  folded  across  the 
bosom  of  her  dress.     The  faint  scent  of  violets  clung 


184  Bawbee  Jock 

about  it.  He  could  feel  the  gentle  rise  and  fall  of  her 
breathing. 

"So  long  as  I  have  my  strength,  and  hands  to 
work  for  you,  you  '11  never  want — please  God,"  he 
murmured. 

She  took  the  strong  brown  hands,  which  were  to 
work  for  her,  in  her  two  little  ones  and  pressed  her 
cheek  against  them. 

"  My  man,"  she  said  softly. 

Later,  after  the  dusk  had  fallen,  they  went  out  into 
the  porch  and  stood  under  the  honeysuckle  and 
jessamine.  In  that  northern  land  the  summer  nights 
are  never  quite  dark,  and  the  hilltops  showed  clear 
against  the  sky,  and  the  stirface  of  the  loch,  though 
shrouded,  was  not  hidden. 

"I  wish  the  moon  would  rise  and  shine  on  the  loch, 
and  make  a  silvery,  shimmery  path  all  the  way  up  to 
where  it 's  so  black,  under  the  bank,"  said  Angela. 

"It  will  presently,"  answered  Jock.  "We  wiU  sit 
and  watch  for  it."  And  he  went  back  into  the  hall, 
and  brought  out  a  couple  of  chairs  and  a  cloak  to 
wrap  round  her. 

They  sat  in  the  scented  dusk  and  talked — talked 
of  themselves,  and  their  love,  and  of  the  wondrous 
happiness  which  this  love  had  brought  into  their  lives. 
If  there  were  fears  and  shadows  to  come,  they  would 
meet  them  together.  As  they  looked  down  the  vista 
of  years,  they  ever  picttired  themselves  hand  to  hand, 
pulse  beating  to  pulse,  heart  answering  to  heart. 

The  house  was  dark  when  they  went  in,  with  the 
exception  of  a  streak  of  light  shining  from  under  the 
kitchen  door;  but  Jock  knew  where  to  find  the  lamp, 
and  striking  a  match,  he  lit  it.     It  was  a  small  reading 


Exploring  the  New  Home        185 

lamp,  and  he  held  it  up  so  as  to  throw  its  reflection 
before  him. 

"Come  into  my  den,"  he  said  to  Angela.  "There 
is  something  I  wish  you  to  do." 

He  led  the  way  into  the  room,  holding  the  lamp  in 
front  of  him,  and,  placing  it  on  his  writing-table,  he 
went  over  to  one  of  the  book-shelves,  and  took  out  a 
large  bulky  volume,  whose  binding  was  worn  with  age. 
He  laid  it  on  the  table,  and  drawing  in  a  chair  which 
stood  near,  he  put  his  arm  round  Angela's  waist  and 
drew  her  down  beside  him. 

"  Do  you  know  what  that  is?"  he  said,  touching  the 
book. 

Angela  opened  it  and  turned  over  the  leaves.  The 
writing  was  quite  unintelligible  to  her. 

"It 's  a  Gaelic  Bible,"  said  Jock;  "it 's  more  than 
a  hundred  years  old.  The  family  births,  deaths,  and 
marriages  are  entered  in  it," 

He  turned  over  the  pages.  On  the  fly-leaf  at  the 
beginning  were  lines  of  written  names,  with  dates 
attached.  Many  of  them  were  so  faint  and  yellow, 
and  the  handwriting  so  cramped,  as  to  be  almost  un- 
decipherable. They  were  names  of  a  race  who  had 
lived  and  loved;  made  history;  printed  their  finger- 
marks on  the  pages  of  time.  And  now,  what  did  these 
faded  signatures  stand  for,  mute  witnesses  to  the  law 
of  oblivion? 

Angela  pored  over  the  open  page. 

"Isn't  it  pathetic,  Jock?"  she  said,  in  a  hushed 
voice.  "All  of  them  gone;  and  yet  their  names  last, 
written  here  by  Hving  hands,  when  they  were  young 
and  strong,  with  love  in  their  hearts — hke  us.  They 
seem  to  want  to  speak.     Don't  you  feel  that?     As  if 


i86  Bawbee  Jock 

they  longed  to  tell  us  things — perhaps  want  to  help 
us,  to  say  '  Don't  do  this,  and  don't  do  that.  I  did  it, 
and  it  was  wrong.'" 

Jock  touched  her  hair  caressingly  as  she  leant 
against  him. 

"It 's  a  pretty  idea,"  he  said,  "but  I  'm  afraid  we  all 
have  to  buy  our  own  experience — ^it  's  the  rule  of  the 
road." 

He  drew  his  finger  down  the  page  to  a^blank  space. 

"  This  is  where  we  have  to  sign  our  names.  I  looked 
out  the  place  the  other  night."  He  took  up  a  pen  and 
tried  it.     "Perhaps  I  ought  to  write  mine  first." 

"  Yes,  you  write  your  name  first,"  she  said. 

And  he  wrote  it,  "John  Murdoch  Mackenzie,"  and 
added  the  date.  Then  he  put  the  pen  into  her  hand, 
and  she  wrote  iinderneath  his  name,  "Angela  Tem- 
pest." 

"  Only  Angela,"  he  said.  And  she  answered,  "  Only 
Angela,"  and  then  they  sat  with  their  heads  very  close 
together  and  read  the  names  in  whispers,  whilst  they 
waited  for  the  ink  to  dry,  because  Jock  would  not 
blot  it. 

"  It  must  look  firm  and  distinct,"  he  said. 

At  last  the  book  was  closed.  They  could  hear 
Sheila  moving  about  the  house.  The  door  into  the 
hall  stood  open,  and  they  heard  the  creaking  of  the 
stair  as  she  mounted  it,  and  her  footfall,  light  as  it 
was,  in  the  room  above. 

The  stair  creaked  again,  and  she  came  down. 

"Where  do  Donald  and  Sheila  sleep?  "  asked  Angela. 
"You  did  not  show  me  their  part  of  the  house." 

"They  don't  live  in  the  house,"  said  Jock.  "Their 
cottage  is  just  outside;  a  few  yards  from  the  back 


Exploring  the  New  Home        187 

door.  Donald  would  be  miserable  living  in  an 
ordinary  house." 

Angela  sat  up  and  listened,  The  proud  little  head 
was  held  very  erect,  Jock  could  not  see  her  face.  It 
was  turned  away  from  him,  and  the  lamplight  threw 
only  the  shadow  of  her  hair  and  the  gleam  of  her 
white  throat  into  relief. 

There  was  the  noise  of  a  window  being  closed;  a 
door  shut;  a  key  was  turned  in  the  lock;  and  then  a 
great  silence  fell,  and  brooded  over  the  house;  and 
not  a  sound  broke  the  stillness  of  the  night. 

He  saw  her  raise  her  head  higher,  and  she  clasped 
and  unclasped  her  hands,  and  then  held  them  together 
tightly.     She  turned.     He  could  see  her  face  now. 

"It 's — it  *s  very  quiet,"  she  murmured. 

A  quick  dread  surged  through  him,  sending  the 
blood  beating  to  his  temples.  He  gripped  hold  of  the 
arms  of  his  chair. 

"You — you  're  not  afraid?"  he  said  huskily. 

She  did  not  answer.  Her  gaze  went  rotmd  the 
room — into  the  shadowy  comers,  to  the  open  door. 
There  was  nothing  beyond  it  but  blank  space.  Her 
gaze  came  back,  and  rested  on  his  face. 

Still  she  did  not  speak.  She  sat  with  her  head  held 
high  and  looked  at  him — not  defiantly,  not  as  though 
she  were  afraid;  her  eyes  met  his  fearlessly,  question- 
ingly,  piercing  as  if  through  the  shroud  of  the  flesh 
to  the  soul  of  the  man  within. 

He  bore  the  look  steadily,  without  a  quiver  or  move- 
ment. His  hands  did  not  relax  their  grip ;  he  did  not 
put  out  a  finger  to  touch  her.  She  drew  a  long  breath. 
There  was  a  little  catch  at  the  end  of  it;  and  then, 
without  a  word,  she  laid  her  head  down  on  his  breast. 


CHAPTER  XV 

WORD  FROM  THE  SCAPEGRACE 

AND  SO  began  for  these  two  their  new  life  together. 
In  the  simpHcity  of  their  love  and  passion  they 
did  not  seek  to  analyse;  they  were  too  happy  to  trace 
reasons  or  emotions;  they  lived  for  the  joy  of  living. 
The  filmy  mist  which  spangled  the  morning  green, 
the  golden  haze  of  sunset,  the  deep,  dark  blue  of  the 
starlit  sky — these  were  the  treasures  of  wealth  which 
Nature  put  forth,  it  would  seem,  for  them  alone. 

They  spent  all  their  days  out-of-doors,  wandering 
where  fancy  took  them,  Flossie's  basket  strapped  to 
Flora's  saddle  or  lying  under  the  seat  of  the  boat, 
for  they  were  as  often  on  the  loch  as  on  the  moor. 

"You  must  not  tire  your  ankle,"  Jock  would  always 
say  to  Angela  as  they  started.  And  if  the  expedition 
was  on  the  hill,  she  was  lifted  on  to  Flora's  back,  and 
he  took  the  bridle  and — "led  always." 

He  showed  her  all  his  favourite  haunts,  and  every 
one  was  associated  with  some  boyish  memory  of  sport 
or  adventure.  There  he  had  shot  his  first  grouse — in 
that  brown  pool  he  had  caught  his  first  trout;  and 
Angela  was  never  tired  of  listening  and  asking  ques- 
tions, and  he  was  never  tired  of  answering. 

Angela  liked  the  days  on  the  loch  best.  It  was  so 
smooth  and  tranquil,  so  infinitely  restful  to  glide  along 

1 88 


I 


Word  from  the  Scapegrace        189 

with  hardly  any  perceptible  sound  or  movement  except 
the  soft  dip  of  the  oars.  She  would  make  Jock  row 
her  in  close  to  the  banks  where  they  were  steepest,  and 
where  the  rock  was  fringed  to  the  water's  edge  with 
fern  and  trailing  creeper,  and  where,  in  the  crevices  of 
the  grey  stone,  grew  countless  plants  of  microscopic 
beauty  and  fragile  loveliness.  Above  swept  the  birch's 
graceful  foliage  or  the  sturdier  branches  of  the  virgin 
oak;  and  through  clumps  of  mellowing  green  the 
crimson  berries  of  the  rowan  trees  thrust  their  ripened 
harvest  flaming  to  the  sun. 

"It 's  so  fascinating  being  able  to  come  so  close  to 
the  bank  in  deep  water  and  touch  it,"  said  Angela  one 
afternoon  when  they  were  out  in  the  boat.  ' '  You  said 
just  now  that  you  were  going  to  show  me  something. 
What  is  it?" 

Jock  shipped  his  oars,  and  pulling  the  boat  along 
by  an  overhanging  branch,  he  drew  it  into  a  break 
in  the  bank  where  some  reeds  grew  tall  and  thick. 
He  parted  them,  and  Angela  peered  over  the  side 
of  the  boat. 

"A  nest!"  she  exclaimed — "a  poor  little  deserted 
nest!" 

"A  moor-hen's  nest,"  said  Jock.  "It 's  a  kind  of 
ancestral  home.  I  always  remember  a  moor-hen  nest- 
ing somewhere  about  here.  One  morning  this  spring 
I  remember  rowing  up  the  loch,  and  I  looked  to  see, 
and  there  were  the  eggs,  and  in  the  evening  when 
I  came  back  they  were  all  hatched  out  and  away. 
It 's  a  pretty  sight  to  see  the  chicks  with  the  mother- 
hen.  She  tumbles  them  into  the  water,  and  then 
swims  about  with  them  roimd  her,  like  bits  of 
fluff." 


I90  Bawbee  Jock 

"  Does  she  never  take  them  back  to  the  nest?"  asked 
Angela. 

"No;  she  hides  with  them  somewhere  about  the 
bank.     She  never  brings  them  back  to  the  nest." 

Angela  put  her  fingers  into  the  nest,  laced  round 
with  grass  and  withered  tangle. 

"All  cold  and  deserted,"  she  said.  "Jock,  we'll 
come  and  look  here  next  spring — together.  I  should 
love  to  see  the  hen  tumbling  her  fluffy  babies  into  the 
water.     You  '11  remember  the  place,  won't  you?" 

"  Yes,  I  '11  remember,"  said  Jock.  "I  know  it  well." 
He  pushed  out  into  deeper  water,  and  rowing  some  way 
from  the  bank,  drew  in  his  oars  and  sat  with  them 
crossed,  the  water  dripping  from  the  blades.  "There 
are  lots  of  duck  on  this  loch,"  he  remarked.  "Later 
on  we  '11  have  some  stalks  after  them.  You  would 
like  to  come  out  with  me,  would  n't  you?" 

"  I  shan't  let  you  go — ^unless  you  take  me  with  you," 
answered  Angela. 

Jock  looked  pleased. 

"I  suppose  it  would  bore  some  women  if  a  man 
always  wanted  them  to  take  an  interest  in  what  he 
was  doing?" 

Angela  pursed  up  her  mouth. 

"If  it  was  the  right  man,  it  would  n't  bore  them. 
Dearest ! "  she  added,  "  you  don't  know  anything  about 
women — and  I  'm  so  glad." 

"But  you  do  like  coming  with  me,  for  the  love  of 
the  sport ?  "  he  said,  bending  forward  over  his  oars.  He 
took  her  hand  and  spanned  the  slenderness  of  her 
wrist  with  his  finger  and  thumb.  "It 's  so  fragile," 
he  said.  "Are  you  hardy  enough  to  be  dragged 
about  by  a  great  strong  thing  like  me?    I  may  not 


Word  from  the  Scapegrace       191 

know  when  you  're  tired.     Will  you  always  tell  me?" 

"Dragged  about!"  scoffed  Angela.  "I  do  simply 
nothing  but  sit  still — and  be  spoilt.  And  I  'm  as 
strong  as — why,  if  you  only  knew  what  I  can  do,  and 
never  be  a  bit  tired.  I  've  hunted  four  days  a  week, 
and  danced  all  night,  and — "  She  broke  off,  and  bit 
her  lip. 

Jock  looked  a  little  surprised. 

"I  suppose  you  stayed  about  a  lot,"  he  said,  "and 
your  friends  mounted  you?" 

"Oh!  I  've  always  been  fond  of  riding,"  she  said 
hurriedly.  "Flossie  gave  me  a  pony  when  I  was  six 
and  taught  me  to  ride,  and — "  She  changed  the 
subject  abruptly.  "Jock,  you  've  never  taken  me  to 
see  the  Burying  Island.  You  promised  you  would. 
It 's  just  round  that  bend  in  the  loch,  is  n't  it?  Let 
us  go  now." 

"All  right,"  he  said,  and  dipping  his  oars  into  the 
water,  he  turned  the  boat's  prow  towards  the  centre 
of  the  loch,  and  crossing  to  the  other  side,  they  rounded 
a  wooded  promontory,  and  came  into  view  of  a  small 
island,  lying  like  a  green  jewel  in  the  centre  of  a  broad, 
open  sheet  of  water.  At  one  end  of  it  a  clump  of 
yew  trees  showed  black  and  sombre,  and  here  and 
there  the  glimmer  of  a  white  cross  or  headstone  stood 
out  against  the  dark  background. 

"Would  you  like  to  land,"  he  said,  "or  shall  I  row 
you  round?  I  can  go  in  quite  near;  the  banks  shelve 
off  into  deep  water." 

"I  think  I  would  rather  be  rowed  round,"  answered 
Angela.  "  How  pretty  it  is !  I  like  to  think  of  them 
all  sleeping  there,  with  the  beautiful,  still  water  on 
every  side — no  restless  human  voices. ' ' 


192  Bawbee  Jock 

"Yes,  it  *s  a  lovely  spot,"  said  Jock. 

Angela  slid  from  her  seat,  and,  dragging  the  cushion 
with  her,  sat  down  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat  and  leant 
up  against  him. 

"  It  makes  me  feel  just  a  little — a.  little  eerie,"  she 
said.  And  he  let  the  boat  drift  and  put  his  arm  round 
her. 

"Are  all  your  ancestors  buried  there — the  people 
whose  names  we  saw  in  the  old  Bible?"  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  they  're  all  buried  there.  Behind  that  clump 
of  yews  is  our  particular  bit;  but  any  one  in  the  glen — 
any  of  the  clan  can  be  buried  on  the  island." 

"What  was  it  that  you  once  told  me  about  the 
people? — that  they  think  that  the  water  keeps  off  the 
evil  spirits?" 

"Yes.  That  *s  one  of  their  ideas.  And  they  will 
never  look  across  to  the  island  after  dark,  if  they  can 
possibly  help  it." 

"Why?" 

"Because  of  the  lights.  If  a  light  is  seen  on  the 
island,  they  say  it  means  a  death  in  the  glen." 

"A  light!  But  the  island's  not  inhabited,"  said 
Angela. 

"Ah!  that 's  where  their  superstition  comes  in," 
said  Jock.  "It's  supposed  to  be  a  ghostly  light — 
some  one's  death-candle.  And  the  odd  part  of  it  is 
that  the  lights  have  been  seen  repeatedly  by  quite 
credible  eye-witnesses,  and  invariably  a  death  has 
taken  place  immediately  afterwards.  It 's  a  queer 
business.  I  could  tell  you  some  funny  stories  of  things 
that  have  happened." 

Angela  shivered. 

"Youdon't  like  the  subject,"  he  said.     "We  won't 


Word  from  the  Scapegrace        193 

talk  about  it.  What  shall  we  do  now?  Go  back — or 
what?" 

"Let  us  go  on  and  find  some  place  where  we  can 
land  for  tea,"  she  answered.  "And  I  am  going  to 
row.     It  will  help  to  take  away  the  creeps." 

"Can  you  row?"  he  asked. 

"No,  not  a  bit,"  she  answered.  "But  the  sooner  I 
begin  to  learn  the  better.  Make  room  for  me  beside 
you,  and  we  '11  row  together.  You  must  keep  time 
with  me,  because  I  shall  be  much  too  busy  with 
my  own  oar  to  watch  yours !  Now !  You  need  n't 
hold  me  on  to  the  seat;  I  won't  tumble  into  the 
water." 

On  their  return  that  evening  they  found  the  post- 
bag,  which  Hamish  generally  brought  in  about  seven 
o'clock,  waiting  for  them;  but  as  they  were  late,  they 
did  not  open  it  until  after  dinner. 

"Nearly  everything  for  you,"  said  Jock,  as  he  un- 
locked the  bag  and  gave  a  fat  bundle  of  letters  and 
enclosures  into  Angela's  hand. 

She  flushed,  and  looked  up  at  him. 

"The  secret  is  out,"  she  said.  "Look!  That  is 
from  Lady  Di!  And  I  see  Dolly's  writing,  and — 
What  will  they  all  say  ?  " 

For  some  time  there  was  nothing  heard  but  the 
rustling  of  notepaper  and  the  slitting  open  of  enve- 
lopes. Now  and  again  Angela  laughed  softly  to 
herself,  or  some  half -uttered  exclamation  escaped  her 
lips.  After  she  had  finished  reading  her  correspon- 
dence, she  sat  quite  still  for  a  few  minutes.  Jock  was 
sitting  by  the  open  window  smoking,  and  his  head  was 
turned  away.  Suddenly  he  heard  a  sound  as  though 
she  had  tumbled  all  her  letters  on  to  the  floor.     Two 


194  Bawbee  Jock 

clinging  arms  were  thrown  round  his  neck,  and  soft 
lips  pressed  kisses  against  his  cheek. 

"Jock!  you  are  the  dearest  dear!  You  are — you 
are  such  a  gentleman," 

His  pipe  was  knocked  out  of  his  mouth,  but  he  did 
not  mind. 

"You  never  ask  questions — and  you're  never 
inqmsitive — you  never  pry — and — "  She  broke  off 
abruptly. 

"  My  darling,"  he  said,  tenderly  smoothing  her  hair 
as  she  bent  back  her  head  to  look  into  his  eyes,  "why 
should  I  be  inquisitive?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know!"  she  answered.  Then  she 
laughed.  "Lady  Di's  letter  is  very  funny:  pages  of 
good  advice.  She  says  if  I  had  told  her  in  time  she 
would  have  stretched  a  point  to  come  to  my  wed- 
ding. Have  n't  we  had  an  escape?  And  she  ends  by 
saying  that  she  may  be  up  north  for  some  fishing  in 
the  spring,  and  that  she  will  offer  herself  for  a  visit. 
The  house  is  too  small  to  hold  any  one  but  ourselves, 
is  n't  it?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Jock. 

She  laid  her  head  down  on  his  shoulder,  and  he  con- 
tinued to  caress  her  hair,  but  something  in  his  touch 
did  not  satisfy  her. 

"Jock,  you  are  not  thinking  about  what  you  are 
doing,"  she  said.  He  did  not  answer,  and  she  glanced 
up.  "What  is  the  matter? "  she  asked.  "You  had  a 
letter.     Is  there  anything  wrong?" 

"I  had  a  letter  from  Alister,"  said  Jock  slowly. 

"And  you  are  worried  about  it."  She  tried  to  keep 
the  resentment  out  of  her  voice,  for  she  did  not  wish 
to  hurt  him;  but  an  involuntary  antagonism  always 


Word  from  the  Scapegrace        195 

rose  up  hotly  within  her  when  she  saw  that  look  come 
into  his  eyes — a  tired,  helpless  look.  ' '  Would  you  like 
to  tell  me  about  it? — or  would  you  rather  not?  Can  I 
help  you?"  she  added  more  gently. 

He  took  Alister's  letter  out  of  his  pocket,  and  looked 
at  it  and  then  at  her. 

"You  can  read  it,  if  you  like,"  he  said.  "It 's  not 
that  there 's  anything  actually  wrong,  but —  Of 
course,  it 's  a  very  uncongenial  life  for  him.  He  never 
cared  much  for  roughing  it,  and " 

Angela  took  the  letter  and  read  it,  for  she  saw  that 
he  wished  her  to  do  so.  Her  inward  comment  on  it 
was: 

"He  is  utterly  selfish.  It  is  all  about  himself. 
Grumbles,  and  asking  for  money." 

"  It  is  hard  on  him,  of  course,  even  although  it  is  his 
own  fault,"  said  Jock.  "You  see  how  he  feels  the 
banishment.  When  I  think  of  what  I  have  ...  of 
our  home  up  here  ..." 

"But  would  he  be  contented  with  this  kind  of  life?" 
said  Angela.  "You  and  I  love  it  because — we  are 
you  and  I.     But  would  it  satisfy  him?" 

Jock  looked  out  of  the  window,  to  where  the  outline 
of  the  hills  showed  faintly  above  the  loch. 

"No,"  he  said,  and  there  was  a  bitter  note  in  his 
voice.  "  If  he  had  Glenmoira  to-day,  he  would  sell  it 
to-morrow.  And  the  money  would  run  through  his 
fingers  like  water." 

Angela  glanced  at  the  letter  in  Jock's  hand. 

"He  doesn't  say  anything  about — your  marriage. 
Have  you  told  him?  Won't  that  make  a  difference? 
Won't  it  make  him  see  that  you  can't  be  responsible 
for  him  now?" 


196  Bawbee  Jock 

"I  have  told  him  about  my  marriage,"  answered 
Jock,  "but  that  letter  must  have  been  written  before 
he  heard  of  it."  He  sighed  heavily,  and  his  eyes 
wandered  again  to  the  open  window.  "I  don't  be- 
lieve," he  said  slowly,  "that  even  when  he  does  hear, 
he  will  realise  that  my  being  married  ought  to  make 
a  difference  in  my  responsibility  towards  him.  It 
will  be  so  hard — so  desperately  hard  to  make  him 
imderstand.  I  gave  my  promise;  he  will  expect  me 
to  keep  my  word." 

"Your  promise  to  your  mother,  you  mean?"  said 
Angela.  "You  did  tell  me  about  it.  But — tell  me 
again." 

"I  promised  that  if  things  came  to  the  worst,  I 
would  consent  to  the  breaking  of  the  entail,  and — sell 
Glenmoira." 

The  pain  in  his  voice  made  her  heart  ache  for  him, 
but  she  persisted  gently. 

"Has  Alister  ever  reminded  you  of  your  promise?" 

"Yes,"  Jock  admitted  reluctantly.  "He's  my 
heir,  you  see.  We  can  break  the  entail  by  mutual 
consent." 

Angela  took  a  little  while  to  ponder  over  this  state- 
ment; then  she  asked,  hesitatingly: 

"An  entail  can  only  be  broken  if  the  next  heir  gives 
his  consent?     Is  that  it?" 

"In  our  case  it  is  so,"  said  Jock.  "Glenmoira  is 
entailed  in  the  male  line.  The  entail  can't  be  broken 
unless  the  next  heir  is  of  age  and  gives  his  consent. 
Alister  has  a  certain  claim  on  me," 

"I  understand,"  said  Angela. 

Jock  himself,  broke  the  silence  which  followed,  and 
he  spoke  quickly,  with  obvious  effort. 


Word  from  the  Scapegrace        197 

"I  said  just  now  that  Alister  had  a  claim  on  me, 
because  he  is  the  next  heir.  But — if  I  had  a  son  of  my 
own,  he  would  legally  have  no  claim  on  me,  and  my 
hands  would  be  tied  so  far  as  breaking  the  entail  and 
selling  the  place  was  concerned.  I  could  do  nothing 
until  my  heir  was  of  age.  Alister,  when  he  hears  of 
my  marriage,  may  try  to  make  me  keep  my  promise 
now.     That  is  what  I  am  afraid  of." 

"  Entails  must  be  very  puzzling  things,"  said  Angela. 
When  she  spoke  again,  it  was  upon  quite  an  irrele- 
vant subject.  "When  are  you  going  to  begin  your 
harvest,  Jock ? ' '  she  asked.  ' '  You  've  rather  swaggered 
about  being  a  working  man,  but  I  have  not  seen  you 
do  any  work  yet."  She  pinched  his  arm.  "Your 
muscles  are  beginning  to  get  quite  soft." 

"They  're  not,"  he  answered  reproachfiilly,  rising  to 
her  challenge.  "Think  of  the  miles  I  've  walked  be- 
side your  pony,  and  rowed  you  for  hours  on  the  loch." 

Angela  laughed  at  the  success  of  her  ruse. 

"He  will  forget  Alister  and  his  worries  if  he  has 
some  work  to  do,"  she  said  to  herself.  ' '  You  promised 
to  teach  me  how  to  harvest,"  she  continued.  "What 
are  the  funny  things  I  am  to  learn  to  make?  Stooks! 
Is  n't  it  clever  of  me  to  remember  that  word? '  If  I 
am  to  be  a  working  man's  wife,  I  must  begin  and  learn 
how  to  make — stooks." 

"  Old  MacPherson  sent  word  to  me  about  cutting  the 
roads  last  night,"  said  Jock.  "His  bit  of  glebe  land 
fits  into  some  of  my  crop,  so  we  work  the  whole  to- 
gether. Every  one  turns  to  at  harvest-time — Chris- 
tina when  she  's  here,  and  the  old  boy  himself." 

"  What  fun ! "  said  Angela.  "  I  am  longing  to  begin. 
When  shall  we  start?" 


198  Bawbee  Jock 

He  looked  at  her  rather  wistfully. 

"Are  you  tired  already  of — only  me?"  he  asked. 

"Jock,  how  can  you!"  she  exclaimed.  "It  is  quite 
the  other  way.  You  would  get  tired  of  me.  You  are 
far  too  big  and  strong  to  have  nothing  to  do  but  play 
about  with  a  useless  woman.  You  would  get  sick  of 
me." 

"Ah  no,  I  would  n't,"  he  said.  "You  see,  I  have 
never  had  any  one  to  love  me  in  the  way  that  you  love 
me.  I  often  ask  myself  if  it  is  n't  a  dream,  that  you 
really  belong  to  me?" 

"Dearest,"  she  answered,  "I  do  belong  to  you,  and 
we  are  never  going  to  be  separated!  Whether  it  is 
work  or  play,  we  are  always  going  to  be  together. 
And  gathering  in  our  harvest  will  be  a  more  whole- 
some occupation  than  sitting  in  a  boat  looking  at  a 
Burying  Island." 

So  she  had  her  way  and  bound  him  to  her  with 
ever  stronger  bands  of  love. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  HARVESTING 

*'\\  /"HO  says  that  I  am  not  a  fitting  helpmate  for 

V  V  a  working  man?  Just  look  at  them!  Dear 
things!  They  are  so  beautifully  made;  and  see  how 
they  lean  confidingly  up  against  each  other.  I  've 
trimmed  their  little  tails  so  nicely,  and  all  their  heads 
are  equal,  and  their  waistbands  are  so  neatly  tied! 
They  are  the  best-made  stooks  in  the  whole  field." 

"They  ought  to  be.  You  've  taken  the  whole  day 
to  make  them." 

"Well,  and  they  do  me  credit.  Your  stooks — 
ragged,  untidy  things,  all  hunched  up  together! 
Look  at  the  difference!"  And  Angela  waved  her 
hands  to  the  four  corners  of  the  harvest-field. 

"She  grows  prettier  and  prettier  every  day.  I 
wonder  where  it  can  end?"  was  the  thought  in  the 
mind  of  the  man  looking  down  at  her. 

Nature's  sun,  and  the  sun  of  happiness,  had  touched 
with  a  richer  beauty  the  flower-like  bloom  of  her  loveli- 
ness and  added  a  deeper  lustre  to  her  eyes.  She  was 
standing  in  front  of  him  with  a  sickle  in  her  hand ;  her 
wide  straw  hat,  with  the  blue  ribbon  dangling  over  the 
brim,  was  pushed  to  the  back  of  her  head,  and  showed 
where  the  dark  hair  curled  softly,  like  a  child's,  about 
her  temples  and  white  brow. 

199 


200  Bawbee  Jock 

Jock  was  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  and  they  were  turned 
up  above  his  elbows,  and  his  arms  were  as  brown  as 
his  face ;  for  they  had  been  harvesting  for  more  than  a 
week,  and  the  last  field  of  grain  had  been  laid  low  that 
day. 

A  cloudless  sky  and  warm  sunshine  had  smiled  upon 
them  since  the  first  hand-sweep  of  corn  had  been  cut  by 
Angela  herself.  It  had  been  a  pretty  ceremony,  her 
cutting  of  the  first  sheaf.  On  the  morning  that  she 
had  entered  the  harvest-field  with  Jock,  old  Mr.  Mac- 
Pherson  had  met  and  welcomed  her.  Behind  him 
stood  the  harvesters;  and  in  the  background  were 
assembled  a  great  gathering  of  men  and  women  and 
children  from  the  glens  and  from  the  hills.  Some  of 
them  had  travelled  far  to  be  present,  for  they  were  all 
eager  to  see  their  young  chief's  bride. 

Mr.  MacPherson  had  put  a  shining  new  sickle  into 
Angela's  hand,  and  led  her  up  to  the  place  where  the 
grain  stood  highest.  And  she  had  cut  her  sheaf  and 
bound  it,  and  at  a  whispered  word  from  the  old  man 
she  had  presented  it  to  her  husband! 

The  shout  which  had  gone  up  from  the  hearts  of 
these  simple  people  had  told  her,  if  she  required  to  be 
told,  how  loyal  was  the  love  which  they  bore  to  their 
chief. 

"I  was  so  dreadfully  afraid  that  I  would  do  some- 
thing silly,"  she  had  said  to  Jock  afterwards.  "It 
made  a  lump  come  in  my  throat." 

"You  behaved  beautifully,"  he  told  her  proudly. 
"  For  it  was  rather  sprung  upon  us,  and  that  poeti- 
cal idea  of  the  old  man's  making  you  give  me  the 
sheaf  took  me  aback.  I  was  n't  prepared  for  such  a 
climax," 


The  Harvesting  201 

"That  was  the  bit  which  pleased  them  most,"  said 
Angela  triumphantly.  "How  they  cheered!  Gaelic 
lends  itself  to  enthusiasm.  And  then  when  you  made 
a  speech  and  answered  for  me,  they  cheered  wildly, 
did  n't  they?  Can't  we  do  something  for  them? 
Give  them  a  treat?" 

"We  will  give  them  a  supper — a  real  good  one,  at 
Christmas,"  said  Jock.  "I  always  do  something  of 
the  kind,  but  this  year  we  will  be  extravagant.  It 's 
better  to  do  it  then  than  now !  I  don't  want  to  inter- 
fere with  the  harvest,  you  see " 

Angela  laughed. 

"You  need  not  explain.  It  would  mean  lots  of 
whiskey,  and  they  would  all  dance  reels  instead  of 
cutting  your  com." 

Angela  had  carried  her  shining  new  sickle  all  through 
these  happy  days  of  harvesting ;  and  now,  it  had  come 
to  the  last  day,  and  she  looked  at  it  regretfully  and 
touched  the  sharp  edge  with  her  finger. 

"We  will  hang  it  up  in  the  hall,"  she  said  to  Jock, 
"and  keep  it  always." 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "we  '11  do  that  to-night — after 
dinner."     He  put  up  his  arms  and  stretched  himself. 

"  Don't  you  think  we  might  have  tea  now?  We  've 
done  our  day's  work.  Where  's  Christina?  Is  n't 
it  about  time  for  her  to  appear  with  her  teapot  and  her 

Ikettle?" 
Angela  shaded  her  eyes  and  looked  across  the  field 
to  the  slope  of  the  bank  above.     "I  see  her  coming 
down  the  path  from  the  manse,"  she  said.     "She  's 
carrying  the  teapot  in  one  hand  and  the  kettle  in  the 
other." 
Jock  laughed. 
[ 


202  Bawbee  Jock 

"  Then  I  'm  off  to  help.  I  shall  have  a  row  with  her, 
as  usual,  about  carrying  that  kettle!" 

"We  will  have  tea  here,  beside  my  beautiful  stooks," 
Angela  called  after  him.  And  she  made  a  nest  for 
herself  and  sat  down  to  watch  the  meeting  of  the  two 
with  a  smile  on  her  lips. 

It  always  amused  her  to  watch  Jock  and  Christina. 
During  these  days  of  harvest-time  she  had  made 
Christina's  acquaintance,  although  acquaintance  was 
not  the  word  she  used  in  her  heart.  She  had  grown 
to  love  Christina,  as  Jock  had  told  her  she  would. 
She  had  never  met  any  one  in  the  least  like  her  before. 
Christina  was  so  strong  and  protective ;  she  took  such 
a  breezy,  healthy  view  of  life;  she  was  so  full  of  racy 
humour;  the  very  grip  of  her  hand  would  have  put 
vitality  into  a  stone. 

Christina  was  much  younger  than  the  minister,  her 
brother,  and  she  had  a  profession — a  wide-interested 
vocation  in  life.  She  was  a  nurse,  and  was  matron 
of  a  private  nursing  home,  which  was  a  model  of 
excellence  and  good  management.  She  always 
spent  her  holidays  at  Glenmoira,  and  it  generally 
happened  that  it  was  during  the  harvest-time  that 
she  revisited  her  Highland  home,  which  she  loved  so 
well. 

Angela's  smile  deepened  as  she  watched  Jock  and 
Christina.  Every  afternoon  Christina  brought  down 
tea  to  the  harvest-field,  because  the  manse  was  so  near, 
and  she  and  Jock  were  always  having  squabbles  as  to 
who  was  to  carry  the  kettle. 

On  this  particular  afternoon  they  had  a  longer 
squabble  than  usual,  and  Angela  grew  impatient — or 
pretended  that  she  was. 


The  Harvesting  203 

"Everything  is  ready,"  she  cried.  "Do  hurry, 
because  I  am  so  thirsty." 

She  had  finished  her  share  of  the  preparations,  which 
consisted  of  unpacking  Flossie's  basket  and  laying  out 
the  cups  and  saucers  and  Sheila's  scones. 

There  was  an  answering  call  from  Jock,  and  she  saw 
the  two  crossing  the  stubble ;  and  presently  Christina, 
with  a  large  brown  teapot  in  her  hand,  was  standing 
beside  her  and  being  commanded  to  admire  the  stocks. 

"I  made  them  all  by  myself! — every  bit  of  them," 
declared  Angela ;  and  Christina,  looking  down  into  the 
lovely  face  upraised  to  hers,  smiled  approvingly. 

Christina  was  a  big  woman,  but  she  carried  no  super- 
fluous flesh  on  her  bones.  She  had  reddish  fair  hair, 
which  she  wore  tucked  away  in  thick  plaits  under  a 
mushroom  hat.  Her  face  was  more  homely  than 
beautiful,  and  her  mouth  turned  up  humorously  at  the 
corners.  Her  eyes  were  a  greenish  grey,  and  they 
could  look  very  shrewd  or  twinkle  with  amusement, 
according  to  the  mood  of  the  moment. 

Jock  seated  himself  beside  Angela,  and  they  both 
held  out  their  cups. 

"We  are  so  thirsty,"  they  exclaimed;  and  Christina 
beamed  at  them  and  began  to  fill  Angela's  cup  first. 

"Oh!— oh!"  The  two  aghast  "Oh's!"  followed 
each  in  quick  succession.  Nothing  but  hot  water 
flowed  from  the  spout  of  the  brown  teapot. 

"Is  it  a  joke?"  asked  Jock. 

"  Shake  the  teapot ! "  suggested  Angela. 

But  no  amount  of  shaking  could  make  anything 
stronger  than  hot  water  come  out  of  the  spout. 
Christina's  astonishment  was  quite  genuine.  She 
took  off  the  lid  and  stirred  the  water. 


204  Bawbee  Jock 

"There  's  not  a  particle  of  tea  in  it — there  never 
was!"  said  Jock. 

"This  is  what  she  does  to  her  poor  patients,"  said 
Angela.  "If  you  break  a  toe,  Jock,  and  go  into  that 
model  home  of  hers,  you  will  know  what  to  expect. 
If  you  ask  for  a  poultice,  she  '11  give  you  a  jam  sand- 
wich. No  saying  what  she  will  do.  And  we  believed 
in  her  so,  did  n't  we?" 

Christina  put  down  the  teapot  and  stared  at  it  in- 
credulously. 

"I  think  the  thing's  bewitched!"  she  said.  "I 
could  swear  that  I  put  in  the  tea — a  spoonful  for  each, 
and  one  for  the  teapot.  And  then — then  I  went  to 
put  on  my  hat,  for  the  kettle  was  not  quite  come  to  the 
boil,  and —  Yes,  I  know  I  put  in  the  tea;  I  can  see 
myself  doing  it." 

"I  wish  we  had  seen  you  doing  it,"  said  Angela. 
"Christina,  you  know  you  never  did.  It's  no  use 
pretending." 

"I  never  remember  doing  such  a  queer-like  thing  in 
my  life  before,"  said  Christina,  rising.  "I  'm  sorry, 
but  it  won't  take  me  long  to  run  back  and  make  some 
fresh." 

She  poured  away  the  hot  water  and  tucked  the  tea- 
pot under  her  arm. 

"  I  '11  go  back, ' '  said  Jock.  *  *  I  can  run  quicker  than 
you!" 

"Indeed  no!"  retorted  Christina.  "I  'm  as  quick 
on  my  feet  as  you  are."  And  she  commenced  to 
run. 

Jock  allowed  her  to  get  away  a  few  paces,  and  then 
he  overtook  her;  and  lifting  her  off  her  feet,  as  gently 
as  though  she  were  a  baby,  he  deposited  her  upon  the 


The  Harvesting  205 

ground,  and  taking  away  her  teapot  was  off  like  a 
hare  across  the  field. 

"Oh,  Christina!"  cried  Angela.  "How  could  you 
taunt  him?  You  might  have  known  what  he  would 
do!" 

"  I  'm  not  going  to  have  him  rummaging  in  my  cup- 
boards," answered  Christina  indignantly;  and  gather- 
ing herself  up,  she  was  soon  in  hot  pursuit,  following 
the  flutter  of  Jock's  kilt,  as  he  dodged  in  and  out 
between  the  lines  of  stooks. 

"I  believe  she  provoked  that  race  on  purpose  to 
have  a  flirt  with  him  all  by  herself,"  laughed  Angela. 
"Oh  dear!  I  wonder  when  I  shall  ever  get  any  tea." 

Presently  she  saw  Mr.  MacPherson  coming  towards 
her  from  the  opposite  direction,  and,  rising,  she  went 
to  meet  him  and  brought  him  to  the  place  where  she 
had  laid  out  the  tea-things,  and  made  a  comfortable 
seat  for  him  amongst  the  corn-sheaves,  for  she  saw 
that  he  was  tired  with  his  day's  work.  Then  she  sat 
down  beside  him,  and  talked  to  him  sweetly  and  gently, 
for  she  had  grown  to  reverence  and  love  the  old  min- 
ister, and  she  had  tender  recollections  of  his  fatherly 
kindness  to  Jock  and  herself  on  their  wedding-day. 

When  Jock  and  Christina  returned,  they  brought 
with  them  a  brimming  teapot  full  of  hot,  strong  tea; 
but  Christina  could  give  no  satisfactory  explanation 
of  what  had  happened  to  the  first  one.  She  was  not 
allowed  to  forget  what  she  had  done,  and  had  to  un- 
dergo a  running  fire  of  chaff  as  to  the  management  of 
her  model  "home." 

After  tea  was  finished,  she  looked  at  her  brother  and 
said  severely: 

"Archibald!  you  're  tired.     I  'm  going  to  take  you 


2o6  Bawbee  Jock 

home  now,  and  make  you  put  up  your  feet  and  take  a 
good  rest.     To-morrow's  the  Sabbath,  remember!" 

"I  had  not  forgotten  that,"  said  Mr.  MacPherson. 
His  eyes  travelled  slowly  over  the  peaceful  scene 
around  him — his  bit  of  glebe  land  and  Jock's  few  fields 
surrounding  it :  a  small  oasis  of  culture — a  mere  hand- 
ful, it  would  seem,  to  most  men;  but  to  those  two  who 
had  tended  it  from  sowing  to  reaping,  it  meant  much. 

"I  never  remember  a  better  harvest  in  the  glen," 
he  said.  He  looked  at  Angela  and  smiled.  "3ince 
ever  you  put  your  sickle  to  the  grain  we  have  had 
prosperity."  Then  he  took  off  his  hat  and  added 
reverently,  "The  Lord  be  praised  for  His  bountiful 
mercies." 

After  Christina  had  borne  him  away,  to  take  his 
well-earned  rest,  Jock  and  Angela  sat  on  by  them- 
selves. Jock  lay  back  and  smoked  his  pipe  content- 
edly, and  his  eyes  also  travelled  over  the  peaceful 
scene;  but  they  always  came  back  to  the  face  beside 
him,  and  rested  there  longest.  It  was  the  loveliest 
bit  of  it  all;  the  scene  was  but  the  setting  for  its 
fairness. 

"He  is  a  dear  old  man,"  said  Angela,  who  was 
watching  the  two  figures  as  they  mounted  the  bank 
opposite.  Mr.  MacPherson  still  held  his  hat  in  his 
hand,  and  the  light  fell  on  his  silvery  hair. 

' '  Yes,"  answered  Jock  meditatively.  ' '  And  he  can 
preach  too !  I  've  heard  that  old  chap  preach  sermons 
that  for  poetic  beauty  and  dramatic  oratory  wotild 
have  won  him  an  archbishopric." 

"That 's  all  very  well  for  you,  because  you  under- 
stand them,"  said  Angela ;  "but  I  can't !  I  wish  he  did 
not  preach  in  Gaelic." 


The  Harvesting  207 

"It's  a  very  primitive  congregation,  you  must 
remember,"  said  Jock.  "They  would  only  under- 
stand the  half  of  what  he  said  if  he  preached  in 
English." 

"The  next  time  he  gives  us  anything  specially 
beautiful,  will  you  translate  it  for  me?"  And  Angela 
turned  her  head  to  smile  into  his  eyes,  and  he  forgot 
everything  except  the  immediate  present. 

After  a  little  while  Jock  sat  up,  and  knocked  the 
ashes  out  of  his  pipe  against  his  boot. 

"Do  you  know  what  Sheila  told  me  this  morning? " 
he  said. 

Angela  shook  her  head. 

"That  the  larder's  nearly  empty.  You  for  a 
housekeeper!" 

"  I  'm  going  to  begin  housekeeping  the  very  first  wet 
day,"  she  said.  "I  'm  waiting  for  it — really  I  am; 
but  it  won't  come." 

"I  hope  it  won't  until  our  com  is  carried,"  said 
Jock.  He  put  on  his  coat,  which  had  been  hanging 
over  his  shoulders,  and  stood  up.  A  cloudless  haze 
had  gathered  in  the  west,  and  the  sun  was  sinking 
ir^to  it,  like  a  great  copper-coloured  ball,  and  the 
strong,  pungent  smell  of  ripe  grain  was  rising  from  the 
land.  "Just  the  time  for  the  blackcock  to  come  in," 
he  said,  looking  about  him.  "They  '11  be  after  the 
new-cut  corn.  I  saw  some  sitting  on  the  stooks  last 
night." 

"And  the  larder  's  nearly  empty,"  remarked  Angela. 

Jock  nodded. 

"I  '11  go  home  and  get  my  gun.  You  wait  here — I 
won't  be  long." 

She  called  after  him,  as  he  was  walking  away: 


208 


Bawbee  Jock 


"Bring  my  plaid  back  with  you." 

"All  right,"  he  said;  and  when  he  returned  he 
wrapped  the  plaid  round  her,  and  they  moved  away  to 
another  part  of  the  field  to  a  place  which  suited  his 
plans  better. 

"We  have  to  be  wary,"  he  explained.  "We  must 
hide  ourselves" ;  and  he  pulled  some  stooks  down  and 
repiled  them  to  make  a  shelter,  into  which  they  crept, 
leaving  a  small  space  open  from  where  they  could  see 
without  being  seen. 

"It 's  like  playing  at  robbers,"  said  Angela  under 
her  breath.  "How  shall  we  know  when  they  are 
coming?" 

"We  shall  hear  them,"  answered  Jock;  and  they  sat 
and  listened  and  waited,  and  presently  they  heard  the 
whirring  sound  of  strong  wings  beating  the  air,  and 
what  seemed  like  a  black  cloud  in  the  fading  light 
descended  on  the  corn-field. 

"How  tame  they  are!"  whispered  Angela.  "They 
are  walking  about  on  the  ground  like  old  barn-door 
fowls.  And  how  they  gobble!  I  never  saw  such 
greedy  beasts.  They  are  so  busy  eating  they  have  n't 
time  to  think  of  being  shot.  Look  at  those  on  the 
stooks!     How  they  're  tearing  at  them." 

"It 's  not  much  fun  knocking  them  over  sitting," 
whispered  back  Jock.  He  picked  up  a  lump  of  hard 
earth  and  gave  it  to  her.  ' '  Chuck  it  into  the  middle  of 
them.  I  '11  get  them  as  they  rise."  And  as  she  was 
about  to  obey,  he  threw  a  couple  of  cartridges  into  her 
lap,  and  added  quickly,  "  Have  them  ready  for  me  to 
reload — you  know  how." 

The  next  minute  there  was  the  sound  of  birds  on  the 
wing:  two  sharp  reports  in  quick  succession,  and  the 


The  Harvesting  209 

click  of  Jock's  gun  as  it  ejected  the  empty  cartridges 
and  he  reloaded.  He  thrust  his  head  above  the 
barricade  and  sent  another  couple  of  shots  after  the 
rising  birds. 

He  waited  a  moment  or  two,  and  then  crept  out 
and  returned,  swinging  a  brace  of  blackcock  in  his 
hand. 

"Two  nice  young  ones,"  he  said.  "That  last  was 
yours.  He  was  pretty  far  out.  I  would  n't  have  got 
him  if  you  had  n't  been  so  quick." 

Angela  had  not  lost  the  trick  of  blushing  at  his 
praise. 

"I  am  so  glad  that  I  can  really  help,"  she  said. 

He  crawled  back  into  the  shelter. 

"We  '11  wait  for  another  lot,"  he  said.  "They  '11 
come  in  again.  They  '11  gorge  fit  to  burst  their  crops 
over  this  new-cut  field." 

After  some  waiting,  the  birds  came  down  again  on 
the  stocks,  and  Jock  got  another  brace. 

"That  will  do  for  to-night,"  he  said.  " It 's  getting 
dark,  and  I  hate  letting  wounded  birds  away.  We  'H 
leave  this  nice  fat  one  at  the  manse  on  our  way  back." 

So  they  started  for  home,  Jock  with  his  gun  over  his 
shoulder,  and  Angela  carrying  her  sickle.  And  that 
evening  after  dinner  Jock  hung  the  sickle  up  in  the 
hall. 

"Whenever  we  look  at  it,"  said  Angela,  "it  will 
remind  us  of  the  first  harvest  we  cut  together." 

"Your  harvest,"  said  Jock.  "I  don't  believe  there 
has  ever  been  such  a  harvest  cut  in  the  glen  before." 

X4 


CHAPTER  XVII 

IN  THE  GRIP  OF  DEEP  FEELING 

ALTHOUGH  Angela  cotild  not  understand  Mr. 
MacPherson's  sermons,  it  never  occtirred  to  her 
to  stay  at  home  and  allow  Jock  to  go  to  church  by 
himself. 

The  primitive  service  interested  her.  The  bare 
white  walls,  and  the  wooden  pulpit,  perched  like  a 
box  above  the  heads  of  the  congregation,  and  the 
curious  drone  of  the  Gaelic  singing,  and  Mr.  Mac- 
Pherson's dramatic  gestures  and  fine  flow  of  language, 
although  unintelligible,  were  all  things  which  held  a 
fascination  for  her.  She  watched  the  people's  faces, 
and  with  her  peculiarly  imaginative  faculty  for  weav- 
ing romance  into  the  trivialities  of  life,  she  would  make 
up  stories  about  them;  and  so  she  was  never  tired  or 
bored. 

The  chief's  pew  occupied  a  small  gallery  all  to  itself 
high  up  facing  the  pulpit.  It  was  reached  by  an  out- 
side stone  stair  which  made  it  quite  private  from  any 
other  part  of  the  church;  and  red  curtains  hung  at 
either  end  to  keep  off  draughts,  so  that  no  inconven- 
ience of  being  overlooked  was  felt  by  those  who 
occupied  it. 

Dileas  always  accompanied  his  master  to  church, 
but  he  liked  to  sit  outside  on  the  top  step  of  the  stair, 

210 


In  the  Grip  of  Deep  Feeling      211 

and  from  there  he  looked  down  on  the  other  dogs — 
plebeian  collies,  who  lay  about  in  the  chtirchyard 
whilst  their  masters  worshipped  within. 

It  was  growing  into  late  October  now,  and  there  was 
a  crispness  in  the  air.  The  harvest  had  been  carried 
and  stacked,  and  Mr.  MacPherson  had  made  a  public 
mention  of  thanksgiving  from  the  pulpit  as  fitting  to 
the  occasion. 

"It  was  riot  anything  out  of  the  way,"  said  Jock 
afterwards,  when  Angela  had  asked  for  a  translation. 
"I  've  heard  him  make  a  much  better  sermon,  when 
there  's  nothing  to  be  thankful  for.  He  rises  best  to 
adversity." 

But  the  Sunday  after  the  Harvest  Thanksgiving 
Angela  knew  by  the  expression  on  Jock's  face  that  the 
old  minister  was  in  one  of  his  moods  of  fervent  spiritual 
elation.  Christina  had  left  some  days  before,  to  take 
up  her  busy  life  anew,  and  Angela  concluded  that  he 
was  feeling  the  effects  of  the  parting. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  service  Angela  always  took 
up  her  position  with  becoming  dignity  in  the  big  chair 
at  the  end  of  the  pew,  where  it  was  considered  the 
proper  place  for  the  chief's  wife  to  sit.  Jock  sat  in 
what  had  been  his  father's  place  at  the  other  end ;  and 
he  always  hung  his  round  blue  bonnet  on  the  crooked 
handle  of  his  stick  and  propped  it  against  the  door. 

But  when  the  sermon  began,  Angela  descended 
from  her  dignity,  and  making  a  noiseless  flight  down 
the  pew,  sidled  up  close  to  Jock.  No  one  could  see 
them  behind  the  red  curtain. 

She  always  had  some  excuse  ready.  "The  church- 
mouse  has  been  nibbling  at  my  toes  and  I  am  so 
frightened,"  she  would  whisper.     And  he  would  take 


212  Bawbee  Jock 

her  hand  in  his  and  hold  it  through  the  sermon,  and 
she  was  content  to  listen  and  think  her  own  thoughts. 

"What  was  it  all  about  to-day?"  she  asked  him, 
on  the  Sunday  afternoon  following  Christina's  de- 
parture. "You  kept  your  face  turned  away  all  the 
time;  you  only  looked  at  me  once,  and  I  don't  believe 
you  saw  me  even  then.  I  know  that  look !  It  means 
that  you  are  thinking  of  something  which  you  only 
see  inwardly." 

They  were  sitting  up  on  the  grass  knoll  which  rose 
at  the  back  of  the  house.  It  was  their  favourite 
Sunday  afternoon  walk,  to  climb  to  the  top  of  it. 
Jock  was  still  careful  of  her  weak  ankle;  but  as  he 
helped  her  up  the  steep  bit,  and  his  arm  was  very 
strong,  she  never  found  the  way  too  hard. 

There  was  a  seat  just  below  the  actual  summit  of 
the  knoll,  facing  west.  And  Angela  loved  to  watch 
the  sunsets  from  there. 

Jock  did  not  answer  the  question.  He  was  looking 
up,  watching  the  flight  of  a  bird  above  his  head. 

'  *  The  beggar ! "  he  exclaimed.  ' '  I  believe  he  knows 
that  it 's  Sunday,  and  that  I  have  n't  got  my  gun." 

He  raised  his  stick  to  his  shoulder,  and  pointed  it 
at  the  dark  object  which  was  winging  its  way  within 
easy  shot. 

"What  a  funny  noise  it  is  making!"  said  Angela. 
"A  kind  of  cheeping  cry — a  cry  like  a  child  in  pain." 

"  Don't  you  see?  "  he  said.  "  It 's  a  hawk,  and  he  's 
carrying  a  bird  in  his  claws — a  young  grouse,  I  expect. 
That 's  why  he  is  flying  so  heavily.     He  can't  rise." 

"  Oh  Jock !  is  it  the  grouse  that  is  crying?  " 

"Yes!  They're  such  strong  brutes,  these  hawks. 
I  've  shot  them  more  than  once  flying,  with  their  prey 


In  the  Grip  of  Deep  Feeling      213 

in  their  talons.  Sometimes  they  get  hold  of  a  young 
rabbit.  The  poor  little  beast  will  cry  just  as  though 
it  were  human." 

-He  followed  the  bird  with  his  stick,  until  it  rounded 
the  bend  of  the  knoll. 

"And  now — will  it  tear  the  grouse  to  pieces,  and 
devour  it?"  asked  Angela. 

"Yes,"  said  Jock,  and  he  dropped  his  stick  on  the 
heather  beside  him. 

She  shuddered,  and  drew  her  cloak  together. 

"Are  you  cold?"  he  asked  quickly. 

"No — but —     Oh  Jock!    Nature  is  horribly  cruel! 
— horribly,  remorselessly  cruel!"     There  was  a  pite- 
ous, frightened  anguish  in  the  eyes  which  she  turned 
upon  him. 
'   "My  dear!"  he  remonstrated,  taken  aback. 

"Yes,  it  is!"  she  broke  out  impetuously.  "It  is 
so  deceptive,  so  subtle,  so  treacherous.  It  can  be  so 
peaceful,  and  good,  and  holy — like  now.  Could  any- 
thing be  more  beautiful  than  this  lovely  scene  all 
round  us?  But — you  never  know!  It  may  be  just 
waiting,  and  when  you  trust  it  most  it  may  spring 
some  terrible,  awful  tragedy  upon  you:  something 
that  will  rend  and  kill,  and  sweep  happiness  away, 
as  though  it  had  never  been,  and  leave  nothing  but 
the  awfulness  of  desolation  behind;  awful,  because 
you  know  what  the  happiness  has  been." 

She  was  trembling.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
deepening  crimson  of  the  sky,  and  silently  Jock 
watched  her  face.  Her  voice  rose  and  fell  in  sweet, 
musical  rhythm,  for  she  could  not  make  it  sound 
harsh,  even  had  she  willed,  and  its  vibrating  tones 
thrilled  and  moved  him.     She  shuddered  again. 


214  Bawbee  Jock 

" Do  you  know  what  Nature  often  reminds  me  of?" 
she  said.  "Of  a  great  revolving  wheel — a  wheel  with 
cogs.  And  some  of  them  are  kind,  and  catch  you  up 
out  of  the  whirl  of  life  and  lay  you  down  gently  where 
you  are  safe  and  sure.  But  some  are  sharp — or  heavy 
like  great  weights — and  cut  and  tear — or — break! 
And  the  poor  mutilated  thing  which  is  at  its  mercy 
has  every  shred  of  courage  crushed  out  of  it ;  and  then 
— it  throws  away  the  thing  it  has  broken."  She 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands:  "But  the  wheel  goes 
on — it  can't  stop.  It  has  been  set  in  motion  by  a  hand 
which —  Do  you  think?  Do  you  ever  wonder? 
Sometimes — sometimes  an  awful  feeling  of  horror 
comes  over  me,  that  perhaps  the  hand  cannot  stop  the 
wheel.  That  it  has  given  it  life,  and  that  the  life  has 
grown  and  grown — too  strong  for  the  hand,  and — " 
She  faltered,  and  her  voice  died  away  into  a  whisper. 

Jock  drew  her  into  his  arms.  He  was  deeply 
distressed,  for  he  had  never  seen  her  in  a  mood  like 
this  before.  He  let  her  lean  against  him,  but  did  not 
caress  her.  She  did  not  seek  caresses;  she  wanted 
understanding. 

When  he  felt  the  trembling  cease,  he  said  gently : 

"What  makes  you  feel  like  that?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said  slowly.  "Instinct,  per- 
haps— imagination.  Imagination  most,  I  suppose. 
Feeling  what  other  people  are  feeling.  That 's  the 
worst,  and — the  best  of  imagination.  I  can't  help 
feeling  what  other  people  are  feeling.  Things — im- 
pressions— instinctive  meanings — come  so  quickly. 
They  seem  to  be  printed  on  my  brain  unconsciously. 
I  can't  help  it.     It 's  very  uncomfortable  sometimes." 

She  moved  a  little,  and  fotmd  a  more  comfortable 


I; 


In  the  Grip  of  Deep  Feeling      215 

resting-place  for  her  head;  but  he  did  not  interrupt 
her,  and  she  continued: 

"I  was  not  brought  up  in  the  ordinary  kind  of  way, 
you  know.  Perhaps  that  had  something  to  do  with 
it.  I  had  no  brothers  and  sisters.  I  can't  remember 
my  mother;  and  my  father — his  memory  is  very  vague. 
Flossie  really  brought  me  up.  He  was  very  fond  of 
me;  but — I  think  I  was  a  kind  of  experiment.  His 
theory  of  bringing  me  up  was  to  make  me  learn  to 
develop  myself.  His  favourite  boast  is  that  he  never 
blindfolded  me." 

Jock  did  not  make  any  comment,  and  she  looked  up 
at  him.  There  was  something  in  his  expression  which 
made  her  ask  what  he  was  thinking  about. 

"I  was  looking  back,"  he  said,  "and — putting 
things  together." 

"Putting  things  together.  How?  Why?"  she 
asked  quickly. 

"I  mean,  I  could  see  that  among  those  people — 
the  Potter  lot — well,  you  did  n't  really  belong  to 
them." 

She  laid  her  head  down  again  on  his  shotdder. 

" They  were  a  very  mixed  lot,"  she  said.  "Some  of 
hem  were  all  right.     Dolly  is  a  dear  little  thing,  and 

'm  so  sorry  for  her  having  such  a  horror  as  Montague 
Potter  for  a  husband.  It  would  be  dreadfully  tmfair 
to  taboo  her  because  of  him;  and  then,  of  course,  he 
has  heaps  and  heaps  of  money,  and  money  counts  for 
such  a  lot,  doesn't  it?" 

Jock  put  a  curl  of  hair  back  from  her  forehead. 

"Money  did  not  count  for  much  with  you,  or  you 
would  not  have  married  me,"  he  said. 

"You  would  have  been  you — just  the  same,"  she 


2i6  Bawbee  Jock 

answered.  Her  mood  grew  grave  again.  She  spoke 
a  little  timidly.  "  Did  I  shock  you  just  now,  when  I 
spoke  like  that  about  Nature  and  that  terrible  wheel? 
When  you  get  down  to  the  very  dregs  of  another  kind 
of  nature  than  this  lovely  one  here  all  round  us, 
sordid,  degrading  misery,  with  nothing  to  redeem  it 
from  its  utter  hopelessness — that  shakes  you!  You 
^wonder  at  me,  and  you  are  going  to  ask  me  how  I 
know  such  things.  I  had  a  friend;  and  she  took  up 
slumming ;  and  I  asked  her  to  take  me  with  her,  and 
she  did;  but — "  She  freed  herself  from  his  arm. 
She  sat  up  and  pushed  back  the  soft  hat  she  wore,  im- 
patiently, from  her  brow.  "That 's  where  I  am  no 
use,"  she  exclaimed.  "  That 's  where  my  imagination 
makes  such  a  fool  of  me.  I  went;  and  the  things  I 
saw  and  could  not  make  any  better — the  despair  of  it — 
possessed  me.  I  could  not  get  it  out  of  my  head.  I 
made  myself  miserable  and  ill  and — utterly  useless! 
Yes,  that  was  the  worst  of  it — ^utterly  useless!"  She 
looked  at  Jock  with  tragic  appeal.  "  Flossie  found  out 
what  I  was  doing,  and  stopped  me.  *  If  you  had  the 
temperament  of  a  fish,  you  might  be  able  to  nibble  at 
the  fringe  of  it;  but  you. — you  '11  kill  yourself  in  six 
weeks,  and  no  one  will  be  a  pin  the  better  for  it,  ex- 
cept the  undertaker,'  was  what  he  said.  Fancy  being 
told  that !  And  it  was  quite  true.  I  long  to  be  able 
to  do  big  things — things  that  would  mean  a  kind  of 
salvation  to  humanity — and  I  'm  so  ridiculously 
constituted  that  I  can  do  nothing  when  it  comes  to 
the  doing." 

Jock  looked  still  more  distressed.  He  wanted  to 
comfort  her,  but  did  not  know  how. 

"I  ought  not  to  have  spoken  like  that  about  Na- 


In  the  Grip  of  Deep  Feeling      217 

ture,"  she  said  remorsefully — "likening  it  to  that 
terrible  wheel.     You  love  Nature;  you  trust  it  so." 

"I  Ve  been  brought  up  to  believe  in  Nature,"  said 
Jock  simply.  "  It  won't  let  you  get  out  of  yotir  depth 
somehow.  There  's  the  feeling  that  behind  it,  behind 
what  we  see  and  feel,  there  is  a  deeper  depth  still — the 
depth  that  nothing  can  fathom." 

"It  satisfies  you,"  said  Angela,  and  she  sighed. 

"It  is  the  witness  of  the  unseen;  the  embodiment  of 
— God  to  me,"  said  Jock  reverently.  "There  is  no 
death  in  Nature.  Everything  goes  on — life  reshaping 
Hfe;  it  is  the  fulfilling  of  the  eternal  destiny.  It  gives 
one  an  assurance  of  limitless  strength — at  least,  that 's 
how  I  feel  about  it." 

For  some  time  they  sat  silent,  watching,  until  the 
sun's  rim  had  dipped  below  the  horizon  line. 

"Would  n't  you  like  to  go  down  now?"  said  Jock. 
"It  will  come  up  cold  presently." 

"I  'm  not  cold,"  she  answered.  "We  will  wait  a 
little  longer.  The  most  beautiftd  bit  of  a  sunset  is  the 
afterglow.  There  is  no  dazzle  then,  and  I  love  to 
watch  the  sky  when  it  melts  into  that  pale  green  colour 
below  the  blue,  and  the  little  pearly  fluffs  of  cloud  turn 
from  pink  to  purple  against  the  light.  We  will  wait 
till  then.  Tell  me  about  Mr.  MacPherson's  sermon. 
You  were  so  interested  in  the  hawk  that  you  never 
answered  my  question  about  it.     What  was  the  text?  " 

Jock  thought  for  a  minute  and  then  he  repeated, 
slowly : 

"'When  the  time  was  come  that  He  should  be 
received  up,  He  stedfastly  set  His  face  to  go  to  Jeru- 
salem'— that  was  it.  The  text  was  in  St.  Luke,  the 
ninth  chapter  and  the  fifty-first  verse." 


2i8  Bawbee  Jock 

"Yes?"  questioned  Angela. 

But  Jock  was  thinking ;  and  she  knew  that  he  would 
not  speak  until  he  had  thought  out  what  he  was  going 
to  say. 

"The  point  that  the  old  man  worked  his  sermon 
roimd  was  on  the  significance  of  the  word  'stedfastly,*  '* 
he  said  at  length:  "'He  set  His  face  stedfastly.'  I 
wish  I  could  translate  for  you  the  poetry  of  the 
language,  but  I  can't!  I  can  only  give  you  the  sense 
of  it.  He  began  this  way:  The  time  had  come — the 
time  for  the  Crucifixion.  It  was  irrevocable.  Christ 
was  to  die  on  the  Cross.  It  was  a  most  awful  death — 
the  most  cruel  and  humiliating  that  could  be  imagined : 
a  lingering  agony,  held  up  to  the  scoffing  jeers  of  the 
people  whom  He  was  dying  to  save.  He  knew  all 
that  when  He  set  His  face  to  Jerusalem.  It  was  n't 
as  though  He  were  going  into  a  fight  with  the  chance 
of  winning  through.  He  knew  to  the  last  drop  what 
that  death  meant — and  He  set  His  face — stedfastly. 
He  stopped  on  the  way  many  times,  helping  people — 
little  children,  and  weak  women,  and  all  sorts  of  poor 
hopeless  creatiu-es.  But  He  never  swerved.  After 
every  interruption  He  set  His  face — stedfastly.  He 
went  on  to  meet  that  awful  doom." 

Jock  paused,  and  Angela  touched  his  hand. 

"  Please  go  on,"  she  whispered.  "  I  love  the  tone  of 
your  voice  when  you  speak  of  things  like  that." 

"But  I  'm  not  good  at  explaining,"  said  Jock.  "I 
can't  bring  out  the  grandeiu*  of  the  subject.  Of  course 
he  went  on  to  draw  the  inference:  the  example  set  to 
us.  That  our  lives  should  be  the  sacrifice  of  self, 
the  following  up  of  what  we  set  ourselves  to  do — 
stedfastly." 


In  the  Grip  of  Deep  Feeling      219 

"Oh  Jock!  I  wish  I  was  good  Hke  you,"  said  Angela 
wistfully.  "You  would  do  that.  You  would  set 
your  face  stedfastly.  Your  faith  is  so  strong,  and 
yet  so  simple.  I  will  never  be  like  that;  I  am  not 
strong  enough  to  be  simple."  The  sweet  voice 
faltered.  "I — I  may  grow  better,  living  with  you; 
but  would  it  be  a  right  sort  of  betterness?  I  should 
be  good  because  you  are  good,  because  I  wished  to  go 
to  the  same  heaven  as  you.  Heaven  would  not  be 
heaven  without  you.  If — "  She  leant  forward,  and 
stretched  out  her  arms  to  the  glory  of  the  dying  day. 
"Look!"  she  cried — "look  at  those  great  bars  of  light, 
like  golden  gates ;  and  you  see  the  beyond  through  the 
bars.     It  is  like  heaven  waiting  for  us!" 

Suddenly  she  turned  to  him,  and,  with  a  cry,  threw 
herself  upon  his  breast.  Wildly  she  wept,  and  wildly 
she  clung  to  him.  Her  tears  were  on  his  cheek  as  he 
strained  her  to  him. 

"  My  darhng ! — my  darling !  What  is  the  matter?  " 
he  implored. 

"If  you  were  to  go  in  first,"  she  sobbed,  "between 
these  bars,  and  leave  me — outside!  Oh,  you  won't! 
Promise  me — promise  me  that  you  won't  leave  me 
behind!  I  could  not  live  without  you — I  could  not! 
I  am  not  strong  like  you;  I  could  not  set  my  face — 
stedfastly,  and — and  go  on — alone." 

He  loosened  the  little  cold  hands  which  clung  round 
his  neck,  and  held  them  in  his  firm,  warm  clasp.  He 
kissed  her  passionately,  telling  her  that  he  would 
never  leave  her,  that  she  was  his  love,  his  darling, 
heart  of  his  heart.  He  did  not  well  know  what  he 
said,  what  he  promised — only  that  she  was  dearer  to 
him  than  life  itself. 


220  Bawbee  Jock 

She  sobbed  herself  quiet  in  his  arms,  like  a  tired 
child.  Her  breath  came  in  long-drawn  sighs.  When 
she  raised  her  head  and  tried  to  smile,  it  was  a  very 
tearful  smile.  She  whispered  that  he  must  forgive 
her,  for  she  had  made  him  unhappy,  and  there  was 
nothing  to  be  unhappy  about. 

"It  was  that  cruel  hawk,  with  the  grouse  in  its 
claws,  that  began  it,"  she  explained.  "That  pitiful 
crying  sound,  like  a  child  in  pain,  was  dreadful!  I 
can't  bear  to  hear  an  animal  suffering.  And  then  the 
sunset!  It  looked  so  like  a  gate,  and  the  bars  seemed 
to  be  closing.  It  put  the  idea  of  being  shut  out  into 
my  head." 

"It  was  only  a  sunset,"  said  Jock;  "and  it's  all 
faded  now,  and  I  'm  going  to  take  you  home.  It 's 
getting  cold  and  dark.  Your  poor  little  hands  are 
like  ice!" 

"I  am  cold,"  she  admitted. 

"Come!"  he  said.  "Shall  we  run  down  the  hill  to 
warm  you  up?     No!  I  forgot  about  your  ankle." 

But  she  stood  looking  up  at  him. 

"I  wonder,"  she  said  slowly — "I  wonder  what  you 
would  do  if  you  found  out  that  I  was  a  horrid  little 
fraud?     I  am,  you  know!     I  'm " 

But  Jock  only  laughed  as  he  put  his  arm  through 
hers. 

"We  '11  argue  that  out  some  other  time,"  he  said. 
"We  're  going  home  to  tea  now."  And  he  helped  her 
down  all  the  steep  turns  of  the  hill-path,  and  they  had 
tea  together  beside  the  fire  in  his  den,  and  he  made  her 
forget  her  tears  in  the  tenderness  of  his  love. 


'  CHAPTER  XVIII 

AN  AMIABLE  TORMENTOR 

AND  chill  October  merged  into  dull  November, 
and  the  days  crept  on  and  grew  shorter  and 
darker,  and  the  weather  broke  and  a  sweeping  west- 
erly gale  scattered  the  last  of  the  autimm  leaves. 
Instead  of  russet  and  gold  on  the  loch-side,  and 
purple  on  the  hill-slopes,  grey  mist  and  driven  rain 
shrouded  the  face  of  the  land. 

When  Angela  looked  out  of  the  window  on  the  first 
day  of  the  storm,  and  saw  the  changed  aspect  of  the 
scene  and  heard  the  patter  of  the  rain  on  the  garden 
paths,  she  said  to  Jock,  who  was  standing  near: 

"Are  you  going  out  in  this?" 

"I  must,"  he  answered.  "I  have  things  to  do.  I 
can't  stop  in  on  account  of  the  weather." 

"Then  I  shall  begin  my  housekeeping  to-day,"  she 
said  cheerfully.  "I  've  always  said  I  've  been  waiting 
for  a  wet  day,  haven't  I?  I  am  longing  to  begin. 
My  head  's  bursting  with  ideas.  It  will  be  quite  a 
business  to  know  what  to  start  on  first." 

Jock's  unresponsiveness  was  very  apparent. 

' '  Are  you  not  pleased ? ' '  she  asked.  She  knew  quite 
well  that  he  was  not  pleased.  She  could  read  his  face 
like  a  book.  He  was  too  transparently  honest  to  be 
able  to  hide  his  feelings. 

231 


222  Bawbee  Jock 

"You  talk  as  if  you  would  n't  miss  me  a  bit,"  he 
said  grudgingly.  "And  it  will  be  the  first  day  that 
we  have  not  done  everything  together." 

"Sometimes  I  was  only  able  to  watch  you  doing 
things  from  a  distance,"  she  corrected  sweetly. 

But  Jock  would  not  be  cheered.  He  looked  at  her 
with  gloomy  reproach. 

"I  believe  you  're  glad  it  *s  a  wet  day,"  he  said, 
"and  you  can't  watch  me  this  time  from  a  distance. 
I  'm  going  over  to  Glenmoira.  I  had  a  letter  from 
Potter  last  night ;  he  wants  me  to  see  about  the  amount 
of  game  that  's  being  sent  him.  He  evidently  does  n't 
think  he  's  getting  his  money's  worth." 

"  I  hate  that  man ! "  exclaimed  Angela.  "  He  treats 
Glenmoira  just  as  he  would  a  poiilterer's  shop,  and 
you  the  man  behind  the  counter!" 

"It 's  to  my  interest  to  look  after  the  place,"  said 
Jock.     "Even  as  it  is — things  are  going  to   pieces!" 

"Never  mind,  dear,"  she  said  quickly.  She  could 
not  bear  to  see  the  shadow  which  always  fell  on  his 
face  at  any  reference  to  Glenmoira.  "This  is  Mr. 
Potter's  last  year,  is  n't  it?  You  will  only  have  to 
put  up  with  him  for  one  more  season,  and  then — " 
She  broke  off. 

"It  won't  make  much  difference,"  Jock  answered, 
and  he  sighed.  "You  see,  there  's  no  end  to  it.  If  it 
is  not  Potter,  it  will  be  some  other  man — whoever  bids 
highest." 

She  was  very  sweet  to  him,  and  full  of  pretty,  tender 
good-byes  when,  a  little  later,  he  took  his  departure. 
She  watched  him  go  down  the  garden  path  and  under 
the  holly  arch  and  round  the  bend  of  the  road  with 
Dileas  following  at  his  heels;  and  then  she  stood  for 


An  Amiable  Tormentor  223 

some  minutes  at  the  door  watching  to  see  if  he  would 
make  some  excuse  to  return,  but  he  did  not. 

She  went  back  into  the  house,  and  paused  in  the 
hall,  listening.  It  felt  so  quiet,  so  empty,  so  deathly 
still. 

"How  awful  it  is  without  him ! "  she  murmured,  and 
resolutely  tried  to  shake  off  the  chill  of  loneliness 
which  she  felt  creeping  over  her.  "He  promised  to  be 
back  in  time  for  tea.  I  must  begin  and  do  something 
at  once,  so  as  not  to  have  time  to  think. " 

What  would  she  do  first?  she  asked  herself.  She 
went  upstairs  to  her  room,  and  spent  the  next  hour  in 
turning  out  the  contents  of  her  boxes,  which  she  had 
never  found  time  thoroughly  to  unpack.  And  then 
she  sat  down  to  survey  the  chaos  she  had  created. 

"What  useless  things  maids  are!"  she  exclaimed, 
the  childish  trick  of  talking  aloud  to  herself  coming 
back  to  her  natiirally  when  she  was  alone.  "I  never 
saw  such  a  lot  of  stupid  clothes,"  she  continued  wrath- 
fully.     "  I  shall  lock  them  all  up  again." 

It  was  easier  said  than  done. 

"They  seem  to  take  more  room  going  in  than  they 
did  coming  out,"  she  panted,  trying  to  squeeze  a 
Paquin  ball-gown  imder  the  tray  of  an  already  bulging 
box.  "Go  in! — you  must!  I  don't  want  you." 
And,  sitting  down  on  the  lid  she  bumped  up  and  down 
until  she  succeeded  in  making  the  lock  catch.  * '  There ! 
You  're  finished,"  she  said  triiunphantly,  and  went 
on  to  the  next  box. 

"I  shall  keep  out  all  these  pretty  frilly  things  with 
the  blue  ribbons  run  through  them.  He  likes  blue 
ribbons,"  she  soliloquised,  sorting  into  neat  bundles 
some  filmy  white  garments  which  were  scattered  round 


224  Bawbee  Jock 

her  on  the  floor.  "And  that!"  She  held  up  a  soft, 
clinging  wisp  of  a  tea-gown.  "It 's  easy  to  slip  on 
in  a  hurry,  and  I  'm  always  in  a  hurry  when  I  'm 
dressing  for  dinner,  because  the  post-bag  comes  in 
just  as  the  bell  rings.     I  shall  keep  that  out." 

She  worked  busily.  The  next  time  she  sat  down 
she  stuveyed  her  sturoundings  with  satisfaction. 

"I  've  done  it  beautifully,  and  in  half  the  time 
Antoinette  would  have  taken.  I  can't  think  what 
maids  do.  Yes" — she  glanced  round — "everything 
is  neat  and  tidy.  All  the  silly  things  I  don't  want  put 
back  in  their  boxes,  and  the  things  I  do  want  folded 
away  in  the  cupboards."  She  leant  back  in  her  chair. 
"  I  've  enjoyed  doing  it.  I  believe  tidying  up  is  a 
bom  instinct  in  a  woman.  How  I  loved  sweeping  out 
my  dolls'  house !  and  I  used  to  make  my  dolls'  clothes 
too.  There  was  that  big  doll,  and  its  clothes  came  off 
and  on:  I  made  lots  of  them," 

She  gazed  abstractedly  at  nothing  for  a  little  while, 
and  then  she  picked  up  one  of  the  white  frilly  things 
with  the  blue  ribbons  running  through  it,  and  ex- 
amined it  carefully. 

"I  beHeve  I  could  sew  as  well  as  that,"  she  mtir- 
mured.  "I  'm  sure  I  could — even  better.  That  is 
done  by  some  poor  thing  who  only  wants  the  money ; 
and  if — if  I  had  to  do  it,  I  would  be  sewing  beautiful 
thoughts  into  every  seam."  She  bent  her  head  and 
scrutinised  the  stitching.  "Such  dear  little  seams 
and  little  tucks  and  buttonholes!  I  wonder  if  I 
have  forgotten  how  to  make  buttonholes?" 

She  laid  the  pretty  thing  back  in  its  place,  and  going 
over  to  the  window,  stood  looking  out  at  the  rain  and 
the  driving  mist,  but  the  grey  aspect  did  not  depress 


An  Amiable  Tormentor  225 

her.  Her  lips  were  smiling.  She  was  looking,  not  at 
the  rain-drenched  hills,  but  down  a  golden  pathway  of 
her  own  imagining.  She  saw  visions — a  wealth  of 
imagery  beyond  the  ken  of  outward  sight,  as  beautiful 
as  the  enchantment  of  the  dawn. 

"If — if  that  were — ever  to  happen,"  she  whispreed 
to  the  rain-drops  on  the  window-pane.  But  the  rain- 
drops were  too  busy  running  after  each  other  to  pay 
any  attention  to  her  whisper. 

Lunch-time  came,  and  the  empty  chair  gave  her  a 
renewed  feeHng  of  desolation. 

"He  might  have  left  Dileas  with  me,"  she  said  to 
herself.  "If  he  ever  goes  away  again  I  shall  make 
him  leave  Dileas  on  trust.  Dileas  does  n't  understand 
anything  except  Gaelic,  but  he  can  look  intelligent, 
and  when  I  say  'Jock'  he  knows  what  I  mean." 

After  lunch  she  wrote  some  letters,  but  got  up 
several  times  to  go  and  look  at  the  eight-day  clock  in 
the  hall. 

' '  I  should  like  to  shake  you ! ' '  she  said  to  it.  "  Why 
don't  you  hmry  up?  Only  four  o'clock.  I  may  like 
you  better  when  you  strike  half-past.  It  will  be  tea- 
time  then." 

The  idea  of  tea  gave  her  an  inspiration. 

"I  might  do  a  little  housekeeping  now,"  she  said; 
and  she  opened  the  door  leading  into  the  kitchen  and 
looked  in. 

The  lamp  was  lit,  but  the  kitchen  was  deserted,  for 
Sheila  had  gone  out  to  her  own  cottage.  She  had  put 
everything  in  order.  The  tea-tray  was  set  ready  to 
carry  in  when  Jock  returned. 

Sheila  had  evidently  left  in  the  middle  of  her  work. 
Some  half -finished  ironing  was  lying  on  a  table — a  neat 

IS 


226  Bawbee  Jock 

bundle  of  blue-checked  aprons  and  a  snowy  white 
cap. 

"Sheila's  mutch!"  said  Angela,  picking  up  the  cap; 
and  a  second  later  she  was  trying  it  on  before  a  looking- 
glass  which  hung  on  the  wall.  She  tied  the  strings 
under  her  chin,  and  craned  her  head  round  to  catch 
the  back  view  of  herself  in  the  glass. 

"I  look  exactly  like  Sheila,"  she  murmured;  and 
running  back  to  the  table,  she  shook  out  one  of  the 
blue-checked  aprons  and  tied  it  round  her  waist. 
"And  there  's  her  little  tartan  shawl  hanging  on  the 
peg  of  the  door!"  she  cried  deHghtedly.  "On  you 
go  too!" 

She  was  standing  on  tiptoe,  so  as  to  admire  as  much 
of  herself  as  possible  in  the  glass,  when  she  heard 
Jock's  whistle,  and  he  was  barely  inside  the  house  be- 
fore he  was  calling  her  name.  Hastily  turning  down 
the  lamp,  she  caught  up  a  broom,  and  was  busy  sweep- 
ing some  imaginary  cinders  under  the  grate,  when  he 
put  his  head  in  at  the  door  and  said: 

"I  have  come  back.  Sheila.  You  can  bring  in  the 
tea";  and,  not  waiting  for  an  answer,  he  went  out 
again. 

Angela  laughed  gleefully. 

"  What  fun !  He  was  qmte  taken  in  " ;  and  creeping 
in  behind  the  door,  which  Jock  had  left  open,  she  stood 
listening. 

She  heard  him  go  through  the  downstairs  part  of 
the  house,  then  his  step  on  the  stairs,  calling  her  name 
as  he  went.  Now  he  was  moving  about  above; 
another  minute  he  was  coming  down  the  stairs  again 
very  quickly. 

She  peeped  from  her  hiding-place.    He  was  stand- 


An  Amiable  Tormentor  227 

ing,  his  head  thrown  up,  listening.  He  looked  like  a 
stag  scenting  danger. 

"I  shall  have  to  come  out  now.  It  is  a  shame  to 
tease  him,"  she  murmured;  but  Jock  forestalled  her 
intention. 

He  wheeled  round  quickly,  and  striding  across  to  the 
door,  behind  which  she  was  lurking,  threw  it  open. 

"Sheila!  where  is  your  mistress?"  he  said  in  a  per- 
emptory voice,  not  at  all  like  his  usual  mode  of 
speaking. 

He  had  flattened  the  door  against  Angela  with  the 
violence  of  his  entrance,  and  stood  with  his  back  to 
her.  She  popped  her  head  round  the  corner  of  the 
keyhole,  the  frilled  cap  framing  her  face,  and  imitated 
Sheila's  soft  drawl. 

"Will  it  be  the  master  himself  whatever?"  she  said. 
Then  she  laughed.  "Oh,  you  old  silly,  not  to  know 
your  own  wife!" 

But  she  was  not  prepared  for  the  effect  of  her 
pleasantry.  Jock  staggered  back,  almost  as  though 
he  had  been  struck ;  then  recovering  himself,  he  caught 
her  and  drew  her  from  her  hiding-place  up  to  the 
lamp. 

"It — ^is  you!  Good  God,  what  a  fright  you  gave 
me!" 

He  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  and  she  saw 
that  his  face  had  blanched  white.  She  could  not 
have  believed  that  the  tanned  skin  could  have  lost  its 
colour  so  quickly.  He  still  held  her  in  front  of  him. 
Then  he  took  off  her  cap  and  dropped  it  on  the  floor, 
and  the  shawl  and  the  checked  apron  followed. 

"Oh,  Jock!"  she  cried  aghast,  "I — I  thought  you 
would  be  amused." 


228  Bawbee  Jock 

"Amused! — amused!  To  come  back  and  not  find 
you!     I  never  got  such  a  fright  in  my  life." 

"But  I  thought  I  looked  so  nice,"  pleaded  An- 
gela. "Didn't  you  think  I  made  a  pretty  old 
woman?" 

"I  don't  want  to  see  you  look  like  an  old  woman," 
he  answered.  Then  he  threw  his  arms  round  her  with 
rough  vehemence.  "Never  play  a  trick  like  that  on 
me  again,"  he  said.  "  I  had  been  looking  forward  all 
day  to  finding  you  watching  for  me ;  and  to  come  into 
an  empty  house  and  not  to  see  you!  not  to  hear  you 
answer  when  I  called!  It  was  horrible!  It  was  as  if 
you  were  dead!" 

"No,  dear,  I  won't;  I  promise,"  she  said  meekly. 
"We  '11  forget  all  about  it.  I  promise  never  to  give 
you  surprises  like  that  again."  She  picked  up  the 
cap  and  the  shawl  and  the  apron,  and  laid  them  aside. 
"Shall  we  have  tea  now?"  she  said.  "Sheila  has  left 
everything  ready."  She  clapped  her  hands.  "I 
know !  We  '11  have  it  in  here.  You  must  keep  on  sit- 
ting on  the  table — I  'm  sure  a  working  man  sits  on 
the  kitchen  table ;  and  we  will  put  the  tray  between  us 
— so!  How  much  tea  shall  I  put  in?  Oh,  Jock,  do 
you  remember  poor  Christina  and  the  hot  water,  and 
how  vexed  she  was?" 

"Yes,"  said  Jock,  who  had  recovered  himself  stiffi- 
ciently  to  allow  a  smile  to  cross  his  face.  "Poor 
Christina !    How  we  chaffed  her ! ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  Angela.  "She  really  was  dreadfully 
vexed,  because,  of  course,  being  a  nurse,  it  hurt  her 
pride  to  let  us  think  she  had  made  a  mistake;  and 
it  was  n't  her  mistake.  A  stupid  little  new  servant 
had  swished  the  tea  out  of  the  teapot  with  hot  water 


An  Amiable  Tormentor  229 

whilst  Christina  had  gone  to  put  on  her  hat.  I  always 
forgot  to  tell  you  the  explanation  of  that  story." 

So  they  had  tea  together  in  the  kitchen;  and  Jock 
sat  on  the  table  and  Angela  made  the  tea,  and  Jock 
regained  his  peace  of  mind.  Then  she  gave  him  a 
description  of  how  she  had  spent  her  day. 

"And,  Jock,  do  you  know  what  I  simply  must  get 
— simply  must?  A  work-basket!"  she  exclaimed. 
"Not  a  useless  thing  for  show,  but  a  real  old-fashioned 
one.  Would  n't  you  like  to  see  me  darning  your 
stockings?  A  real  nice  work-basket  would  keep  me 
out  of  mischief.  It  would  keep  me  busy,  and  then 
I  would  not  have  time  to  play  silly  jokes!  You 
know,  there  's  no  use  in  my  trying  to  do  house- 
keeping, because  Sheila  does  it  far  better  than  I  ever 
could." 

Some  few  evenings  later  the  post-bag  was  delayed, 
and  did  not  arrive  until  after  dinner. 

Jock  brought  in  the  letters  himself,  and  a  parcel 
which  he  laid  down  beside  Angela. 

"It 's  addressed  to  you,"  he  said. 

"A  parcel!  For  me?    I  don't  expect  an3rthing." 

She  examined  the  label. 

"Suppose  you  open  it?"  suggested  Jock.  "Shall  I 
unfasten  the  string  for  you?" 

The  string  was  undone,  and  many  wrappings 
removed.  When  Angela  came  to  the  last,  her  cheeks 
grew  pink. 

"I  know!"  she  cried. 

Jock  was  bending  over  her,  and  she  threw  her  arms 
round  his  neck  and  kissed  him,  and  then  quickly 
pulled  off  the  last  wrapper.  There  it  was!  A  large 
round  work-basket! 


230  Bawbee  Jock 

"Oh!"  she  gasped  breathlessly,  after  she  had  lifted 
the  lid  and  looked  underneath. 

For  quite  half  an  hour  she  played  with  the  contents 
of  her  work-basket. 

"Why  did  you  kiss  me  for  it?"  said  Jock,  who  was 
watching  her.  "You  never  even  asked  where  it 
came  from?" 

"As  if  I  did  not  know!"  she  retorted.  Then  she 
added  softly:  "You  give  me  everything.  It  was  not 
difficult  to  guess." 

She  looked  round  the  room. 

"Now,  what  can  I  begin  on?" 

Jock  had  risen,  and  was  filling  his  pipe  by  the  fire- 
place. 

"Isn't  there  something  about  you  that  wants 
mending?"  she  asked. 

"No,  I  don't  think  so,"  he  answered. 
.     "There  must  be!" 

She  had  threaded  a  needle  with  a  long  black  thread, 
and  was  drawing  it  through  her  fingers  and  waving  it 
slowly  from  side  to  side. 

"Do  you  know  what  you  look  like?"  said  Jock, 
laughing.  "Like  a  cat  when  it 's  switching  its  tail 
about,  waiting  to  pounce  on  a  mouse!" 

"And  you  're  the  mouse,"  she  answered;  and  her 
eyes  settled  on  his  kilt.  "It's  too  long,"  she  said 
"Let  me  run  a  tuck  in  it." 

"It  is  n't  too  long,"  answered  Jock  indignantly. 

"Well,  it  hangs  crooked,  then!  It  droops  down  at 
the  side.  Come  here,  and  I  '11  show  you.  I  could  give 
it  a  pinch  up  in  two  minutes."  And  she  tied  a  knot  on 
her  thread. 

Jock  edged  away  from  her. 


An  Amiable  Tormentor  231 

"  There  's  nothing  wrong  with  my  kilt.  It  *s  a  very 
good  kilt.     It  was  one  of  my  father's." 

"Oh,  that  settles  it!  If  it 's  as  old  as  that,  it  must 
want  something."  She  made  a  grab  at  him.  "Let 
me  see." 

Jock  escaped  hastily  out  of  reach  of  her  hand.  He 
sat  down  on  a  chair  and  tucked  his  kilt  under  him. 

"You  may  do  what  you  like  with  anything  else,  but 
I  won't  have  my  kilt  touched,"  he  said  decidedly. 

Angela  sighed;  her  eyes  roamed  round  the  room 
again. 

"There  *s  a  ring  off  that  window-curtain  up  there. 
Now,  how  did  that  happen?" 

"  I  did  it,"  confessed  Jock.  "  I  only  gave  it  a  little 
tug." 

Angela  broke  into  a  peal  of  laughter. 

"Oh,  Jock!  you  don't  realise  how  strong  you  are. 
Your  'little  tugs '  are  enough  to  bring  the  house  about 
our  ears.  If  you  fetch  down  that  curtain,  I  will  sew  on 
the  ring.  That  would  be  doing  something  really 
useful." 

"Has  that  taken  a  little  of  the  energy  out  of  you?" 
said  Jock,  after  the  ring  had  been  sewn  on  and  the 
curtain  hung  up  again.  "Is  it  safe  for  me  to  come 
near  you  now?" 

"Yes."  She  laughed,  and  sank  back  against  the 
green  cushion  which  always  lay  on  the  arm  of  her  sofa. 
"Jock!  how  did  you  know  where  to  get  that  basket?" 
she  said  suddenly.  "AU  the  fittings!  How  did  you 
know  what  to  choose?" 

Jock  looked  at  the  green  cushion  and  nodded 
gravely. 

"Christina!"  exclaimed  Angela.     "Jock,  how  sly 


232 


Bawbee  Jock 


you  Ve  been !  You  wrote  and  asked  Christina  to 
choose  it.  But  it  was  nice  of  you.  I  think  I  would 
like  to  hug  you  again."  She  smiled  up  at  him.  "I 
wonder  if  any  wife  is  so  well  taken  care  of  as  I  am?  " 

It  touched  the  tenderest  chord  within  him  when  she 
spoke  like  that,  and  he  flushed  at  her  words. 

"I  'm  so  afraid  of  being  clumsy,  or  stupid,  about 
thinking  of  things  for  you,"  he  said.  "  I  've  never  had 
to  do  this  kind  of  'taking  care'  of  any  one  before.  I 
like  to  think  that  you  have  no  one  else — that  you 
cannot  do  without  me." 

"That's  just  it,"  she  answered.  "I  can't  do 
without  you." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

BAWBEE  JOCK  IS  OUTRAGED 

THE  last  Saturday  night  before  Christmas — and 
the  best  week's  earnings  that  I  've  collected 
yet,"  said  Angela. 

' '  Earnings ?    Thievings,  you  mean, ' '  answered  Jock. 

She  was  sitting  on  his  knee,  and  had  just  finished 
turning  out  his  pockets. 

She  went  through  this  little  ceremony  every 
Saturday  night,  and  then  she  tied  up  all  the  money 
she  had  found  in  her  pocket-handkerchief. 

"  Sixpence  more  than  last  Saturday  night,"  she  said. 
"That  is  because  I  remembered  to  look  in  your 
sporran ;  I  sometimes  forget  that  that 's  a  pocket 
too."  She  jingled  the  contents  of  her  handkerchief 
triumphantly.  "Do  you  know  that  the  first  thing  I 
ever  heard  about  you  was  that  you  lived  upon  porridge 
and  whiskey,  and  counted  your  bawbees  every  Sattur- 
day  night?"  She  jingled  her  handkerchief  again. 
"They  are  my  bawbees  now." 

"Yours!"  he  answered,  looking  at  her  askance. 
"They  are  mine!    Earned  by  the  sweat  of  my  brow." 

"Well,"  she  retorted,  "and  doesn't  a  working  man 
always  give  his  wages  to  his  wife  to  spend?" 

"He  gives  her  them — you  take  them,"  answered 
Jock.  "You  take  everything  of  me.  You're  a 
shameless  reiver." 

233 


234  Bawbee  Jock 

"A  reiver?  What's  that?"  she  queried.  "Any- 
thing pretty?" 

"A  reiver  is  a  robber!  A  thief!  A  marauding 
scoundrel !  In  olden  times,  when  the  clans  used  to  be 
at  war  with  each  other,  they " 

"Oh  yes,  I  know;  Flossie  warned  me,"  she  inter- 
rupted. "When  one  clan  had  eaten  up  everything  of 
its  own,  it  went  off  on  a  foraging  expedition  and  stole 
what  it  could  steal  from  its  next-door  neighbour." 
She  pursed  up  her  mouth,  and  put  her  head  on  one 
side.  "Reiving  must  be  infectious.  I  'm  becoming  a 
typical  Highlander.     Don't  you  think  so?  " 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  your  bawbees?" 
he  asked.  "There  's  nothing  to  spend  your  thievings 
on  up  here." 

"What  am  I  going  to  spend  my  bawbees  on?" 
She  still  held  her  head  on  one  side  and  studied  him 
meditatively.  "I  'm  going  to — you  will  see.  After 
Christmas  I  will  give  up  reiving." 

She  hid  her  thievings  in  one  of  the  pockets  of  her 
work-basket. 

"To  change  the  subject,"  she  said,  "I  had  a  letter 
from  Flossie  to-night.  He  's  going  abroad.  He  '11 
have  started  by  now.  He  says  that  an  English  Christ- 
mas gives  him  a  fit  of  the  blues ;  that  the  sight  of  the 
turkeys  hanging  up  in  the  shop-windows  makes  him 
feel  that  he  is  only  one  degree  removed  from  cannibal- 
ism. He  never  used  to  say  this  kind  of  things  before; 
but — perhaps  he  feels  lonely !  Poor  Flossie !  I  think 
he  misses  me,  Jock.  Where  is  his  letter?  Oh  yes, 
here  it  is.  He  's  going  to  stay  abroad  for  months; 
perhaps  go  for  a  tour  round  the  world.  He  says  he  has 
never  done  America,  and —  Listen  to  this  Jock: 


Bawbee  Jock  is  Outraged         235 

*"I  am  sending  you  my  library  subscription.  I 
mean  the  tangible  part  of  it.  The  box  ought  to  arrive 
almost  as  soon  as  you  get  this.  I  have  n't  a  notion 
what  books  they  may  send.  I  'm  rather  cosmopolitan 
in  my  tastes,  as  you  know,  but  you  can  make  out  the 
next  list  for  yourself.  I  can't  prevent  your  body  from 
browsing  in  a  state  of  bovine  rusticity,  but  I  can  try 
to  keep  your  mind  from  following  stiit.' 

"That  last  remark  is  rather  unkind — perhaps  I 
ought  not  to  have  read  it  out,"  said  Angela,  folding  up 
the  letter.  "Has  it  hurt  you,  dear?  Flossie  is 
jealous.     He  must  have  a  tiny  hit  at  you  somewhere." 

"I  suppose  he  looks  upon  me  as  a  kind  of  savage," 
said  Jock.  "I  don't  talk  much  about  what  I  read, 
because  I  've  never  had  any  one  that  I  could — give 
myself  away  to — about  things  I  really  feel." 

"You  can  give  yourself  away  to  me,"  suggested 
Angela. 

He  smiled  gravely. 

"  You  are  so  quick.  Your  brain  works  like  lightning. 
When  I  try  to  express  myself,  my  tongue  feels  like  a 
stiff  key  in  a  rusty  lock." 

"Your  tongue  is  not  quite  so  stiff  as  you  think," 
answered  Angela.  "You  nearly  always  get  the  best 
of  an  argument — perhaps  that 's  because  you  're 
Scotch." 

"We  don't  argue,"  remonstrated  Jock.  "We  only 
discuss  things — rub  off  each  other's  corners." 

"There  is  one  thing  that  I  am  thankful  for,"  she  con- 
tinued, "and  that  is,  that  when  you  are  sitting  beside 
me  here  in  the  evenings,  and  you  are  reading — and  I 
am  reading — that  you  don't  want  to  read  me  out 
scraps  of  your  book.     That 's  maddening.     People 


236  Bawbee  Jock 

who  do  that  invariably  gabble,  or  laugh,  or  skip  from 
one  bit  to  another,  and  all  the  cream  has  been  skimmed 
off  the  book  for  you  by  the  time  you  come  to  read  it  for 
yourself.  If  you  love  me,  Jock,  don't  read  out  aloud 
to  me." 

"Very  well,"  said  Jock.  " I  won't  read  to  you — un- 
less you  ask  me." 

The  following  evening  Flossie's  book-box  arrived, 
and  after  dinner  Angela  settled  herself  in  her  corner  of 
the  sofa,  and  Jock  drew  in  his  arm-chair  and  arranged 
the  reading-lamp  so  that  it  should  shed  its  light 
equally ;  and  then  he  placed  the  box  on  the  hearthrug 
between  them. 

"Here  is  the  key,"  said  Angela.  "It  was  sent  to 
me. 

"Your  Flossie  has  been  very  generous,"  said  Jock, 
after  he  had  opened  the  box.  He  took  out  some  half 
dozen  books,  and  laid  them  on  the  table. 

"Is  that  all?  I  don't  call  that  particularly  gener- 
ous," answered  Angela. 

"There  are  some  more  underneath,"  said  Jock. 
"You  look  through  your  lot  and  see  what  they 
promise." 

He  had  taken  his  pipe  out  of  the  rack  and  was  slowly 
filling  it. 

Angela's  eyes  sparkled  as  she  read  the  titles  of  the 
first  two  books. 

"I  love  old  favourites,  of  course,"  she  said,  looking 
across  at  Jock's  well-filled  bookshelves;  "but  there  is 
something  very  refreshing  in  getting  a  new  thing,  is  n't 
there?  Ah!"  as  a  familiar  name  caught  her  eye. 
"How  delightful!  His  very  last,  and  to  keep  for  my 
own!     Do  you  see?    Here  's  a  slip  of  paper  inside. 


Bawbee  Jock  is  Outraged         237 

'Sent  by  Lord  Francis  Carleton's  orders.'  How  nice 
of  Flossie ;  it  is  not  even  cut."  She  bent  forward,  and 
took  Jock's  skean-dhu  out  of  tiis  stocking.  "  I  should 
always  advise  a  woman  to  marry  a  Highlander;  they 
make  such  useful  husbands,"  she  said.  "Their  wives 
get  such  nice  little  pickings  off  them.  This  makes  an 
excellent  paper-knife,"  and  she  began  running  the 
sharp  blade  of  the  skean-dhu  up  the  uncut  leaves  of 
the  volume  lying  on  her  lap. 

"Nice  little  pickings!"  echoed  Jock.  "I  should 
think  you  do  get  nice  little  pickings  off  me.  To  say 
nothing  of  stealing  my  money,  you  take  my  kilt  pins 
for  your  ties,  and  my  blue  bonnet  is  as  often  on  your 
head  as  it  is  on  mine."  He  lit  his  pipe,  and  turning 
over  the  remainder  of  the  books  in  the  box,  picked  up 
one  at  random.  His  pipe  was  drawing  well,  and  he 
settled  himself  comfortably  in  his  chair. 

Angela  did  not  look  up;  she  was  still  cutting  the 
leaves  of  her  book,  and  talking  desultorily  as  shettimed 
over  the  pages. 

"There  is  something  very  much  your  own  about  a 
book  that  you  cut  for  yourself,"  she  remarked.  She 
cut  a  few  more  pages.  "This  man's  writing  ought  to 
appeal  to  you,  Jock.  He  understands  and  loves  Na- 
ture so.  He  makes  you  see  the  beauty  of  it  through 
everything,  and  he  is  so  human.  You  come  across 
such  nice  bits,  quite  imexpectedly  somehow,  that 
seem  to  have  been  written  specially  for  you  yourself. 
Do  you  know  that  feeling?" 

Jock  did  not  answer,  and  she  went  on  talking  to  her- 
self. Sometimes  when  he  was  smoking  he  listened  to 
her  for  quite  a  long  time  without  speaking. 

"There!    I  have  cut  half  the  book,"  she  said.     "I 


238  Bawbee  Jock 

won't  begin  reading  it  just  now.  I  shall  keep  it  until  I 
want  to  be  freshened  up.  I  know  how  it  will  make  me 
feel — like  a  plant  which  has  been  hidden  away  in  some 
dusty  corner,  and  then  put  out  into  the  rain.  A 
geranium  plant,  I  think.  They  look  so  miserable 
when  they  get  dusty  and  dried  up."  She  laughed. 
"Jock!  do  you  think  I  could  ever  look  like  a  little 
musty-fusty  geranium  plant  that  wanted  putting  out 
into  the  rain?" 

She  glanced  up.  He  had  not  heard  her;  he  was 
absorbed  in  the  book  he  was  reading.  She  looked  from 
his  face  to  its  cover,  and  a  smothered  exclamation  was 
strangled  on  her  lips. 

"Now,  what  will  happen?"  she  said  to  herself. 
"  It  will  be  intensely  interesting  to  see  how  he  takes  it. 
He  reads  very  quickly,  although  he  says  his  tongue  is 
like  a  rusty  key  in  a  stiff  lock.  It 's  big  print — and 
very  short."  She  took  notice  of  how  many  pages  he 
had  already  turned,  and  continued  soliloquising,  as  she 
watched  his  face.  "  He  has  not  got  his  first  shock  yet ; 
he  is  just  hovering  on  the  brink.  He  hurried  over 
those  last  two  pages.  He  's  skipping  on  a  little. 
That  line  between  his  eyebrows  always  comes  when  he 
has  one  of  his  intense  fits  of  concentration.  If  I 
spoke  to  him  just  now,  he  would  not  hear  me."  She 
picked  up  her  book  again,  and  went  on  quietly  with  the 
cutting  of  the  pages.  "  I  won't  read  just  yet  awhile," 
she  murmured.  "  I  want  to  see  what  effect  that  kind 
of  a  book  will  have  on  my  dear  Bawbee!" 

At  last  she  finished  her  cutting.  She  leant  back 
against  the  green  cushion,  and  lay  watching  Jock's 
face.     Once  she  glanced  at  the  clock. 

"  He  is  giving  it  a  fair  trial.     It  is  so  characteristic 


Bawbee  Jock  is  Outraged         239 

of  him  to  go  on  with  a  thing  to  the  end,  once  he  has 
begun;  but  he  need  not  tell  me  afterwards  that  that 
was  his  only  reason.     I  '11  try  an  experiment." 

She  stretched  out  her  hand  and  laid  it  on  one  of 
the  pleats  of  his  kilt.  When  they  were  sitting  reading 
together,  she  would  often  do  that;  and  sometimes  with- 
out looking  up  he  would  take  the  hand  and  hold  it, 
until  she  drew  it  away  again.  Perhaps  it  was  that  she 
craved  a  mute  sympathy  for  some  passage  which  she 
was  reading.  She  would  explain  to  him  afterwards 
what  it  had  been;  but  he  always  waited  until  she 
chose  to  speak  of  her  own  accord. 
'  He  did  not  take  her  hand.  He  raised  his  head  and 
looked  at  her  over  the  top  of  the  book.  The  two  sharp 
lines  between  his  eyebrows  were  very  strongly  marked, 
and  there  was  an  expression  in  his  eyes  she  had  never 
seen  there  before. 

She  left  her  hand  lying  where  it  was.  Against  the 
dark  greens  and  blues  of  the  tartan  and  under  the 
lamp's  soft  glow  it  looked  a  white,  soft,  fragile  little 
thing.  A  sweet  purity  seemed  to  hover  round  it; 
and  it  lay  as  though  confiding  in  his  trust.  But  he 
did  not  touch  it;  and  at  last  she  drew  it  away. 

She  lifted  one  of  the  other  books  from  the  table 
beside  her  and  opened  it.  She  had  barely  glanced 
through  the  list  of  the  many  editions  into  which  it  had 
run,  when  there  was  a  swishing  sound  heard,  a  thud 
against  the  top  bar  of  the  grate,  and  something  landed 
violently  in  the  heart  of  the  fire.  The  logs  burst  into  a 
blaze  and  the  sparks  streamed  up  the  chimney  in  long 
fiery  tongues. 


CHAPTER  XX 

A  DISCUSSION 

JOCK!"  exclaimed  Angela. 
Jock  was  leaning  forward,  watching  the  hungry 
flames  as  they  licked  greedily  round  the  cover  of  the 
book  which  he  had  thrown  into  the  fire. 

"Jock!"  repeated  Angela. 

"Damn!"  exclaimed  Jock;  and  then  he  sat  back  in 
his  chair  and  stared  at  her.  His  face  was  very  red, 
and  unutterable  disgust  was  written  on  it. 

Angela  looked  at  him  with  raised  eyebrows  and  said 
nothing.  There  was  a  few  moments'  silence,  and  then 
he  bliu-ted  out  abruptly: 

"I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  I  've  never  heard  you  use  that  word  before,"  she 
said. 

"I  *ve  said  I  'm  sorry,"  he  answered. 

She  smoothed  the  page  of  the  book  lying  open  on  her 
lap,  and  said  slowly,  as  though  measuring  each  word: 

"  I  accept  your  apology ;  but — I  expected  to  hear  you 
say  something  like  that." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  have  been  watching  you." 

"Did  you  know  what  I  was  reading?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered. 

He  looked  away  from  her.    The  fire  had  settled 
240 


p 


A  Discussion  241 

down  into  a  fierce  red  glow,  and  a  dark  heap  smoul- 
dered in  its  heart. 

"You  know  the  book?  You  have  read  it?"  he 
asked. 

* '  Yes , ' '  she  answered. 

He  rose  and  stood  by  the  mantelpiece,  moving  some 
ornaments  in  an  aimless  way  which  was  very  imlike 
him,  and  spoke  jerkily. 

"Have  you — read  many  books  of  that  kind?  Is  it 
that  kind  of  stuff  that — fed  your  imagination?  You 
remember — that  Sunday  afternoon — when  we  talked 
up  on  the  hill?  You  said  you  had  learnt  things  from 
— "  He  looked  down  into  the  fire,  and  the  lines 
between  his  eyebrows  contracted  sharply.  "Was  it 
from  reading  books — like — that,  that  you  got  the  idea 
that  Nature  could  be  so  cruel  and  remorseless — so 
degrading?" 

"No,"  she  answered  quickly.  "I  told  you  where  I 
got  my  ideas  from.  From  seeing  right  down  into  the 
very  depths  of  things  themselves." 

"I'm  sorry  you've  read  books  like  that."  He 
spoke  slowly,  and  with  obvious  difficulty.  "I  'm 
sorry  that  any  girl  shoiild  get  her  impressions  of  Hfe 
from  reading  a  book  like  that.  Things  that  ought  to 
be — sacred,  are — described  in  a  way —  Well,  the 
descriptions  are  sheer  sensualism." 

There  was  a  lengthened  pause. 

"But  you  were  interested  in  the  book,"  said  Angela. 
"It  threw  a  kind  of  glamoiu*  over  you." 

"No,  it  didn't,"  he  answered.  "It  threw  no 
glamour  over  me.  I  read — because  I  wanted  to  see 
how  they  were  going  to  draw  the  moral  lesson." 

Angela  threw  back  her  head  and  watched  him  for  a 
16 


242  Bawbee  Jock 

few  moments  from  under  her  half-closed  eyelids. 
Then  she  said: 

"And  did  you  not  find  the  moral  lesson?  Don't 
you  think  that  it  was  written  with  a  meaning? — to  give 
a  warning?" 

"  Much  more  likely  to  send  the  warned  to  find  out 
what  it  all  means,"  answered  Jock  shortly.     "It 's  so 

well  gilded.     That 's  where  the trickery  comes  in. 

I  've  missed  out  the  word  this  time,  but  I  should  like 
to  have  said  it." 

"Jock,  I  never  saw  you  so  roused  about  anything 
before,"  said  Angela. 

Jock  took  up  the  poker  and  thrust  it  into  the 
smoiildering  mass  and  turned  it  over.  The  inner  pages 
of  the  book  had  not  yet  been  charred  by  the  flames, 
and  they  fell  open.  A  flash  of  light  flared  up  and 
showed  the  clearly  printed  type,  as  easy  to  read  as  the 
meaning  it  sought  to  convey.  He  thrust  the  poker 
through  the  page,  and  taking  up  a  peat-sod  threw  it 
on  the  blaze,  covering  and  hiding  what  was  beneath, 
and  piled  some  wood  on  the  top.  Then  he  went  over 
to  the  window,  and,  opening  it  wide,  a  rush  of  cold, 
pure  air,  laden  with  the  clean  breath  of  the  first  winter 
snowflakes,  swept  through  the  room.  The  sudden 
draught  caught  the  fire  and  drew  the  flames  up  the 
chimney  with  a  roar. 

"You  certainly  do  things  thoroughly,  Jock,"  said 
Angela. 

Jock  shut  the  window  and  came  back  to  his  chair 
and  sat  down.  She  held  out  her  hand,  but  he  did  not 
take  it. 

"I  saw  it,  that  last  time,"  he  said.  "You  thought 
I  did  not  notice — I  did.     But — I  had  that  beastly 


A  Discussion  243 

thing  "m  my  own  hand,  and — "  He  forced  him- 
self to  meet  her  eyes.  "Do  you  think  I  'm  a  prig?" 
he  asked. 

She  did  not  answer  relevantly.  Her  glance  wandered 
to  the  lines  of  book-shelves  on  the  wall. 

"You  have  read  heaps  of  books  a  great  deal  stronger 
than  that,"  she  said.  "The  old  writers,  and — our 
best  writers — deal  with  the  elemental  passions.  It  is 
their  finest  theme." 

"Yes.  But  they  distinguish  between  God's  gifts 
— Nature's  instincts,  and — "  He  hesitated.  "Our 
finest  writers  are  strong,  but  they  show  you  the  no- 
bility of  man's  conquest  over  sin."  He  turned  the 
poker  in  the  fierce  heat  of  the  fire.  "That  kind  of 
stuff!  Do  you  think  that  strengthens  the  morals  of 
any  one?  There  are  things  decent-minded  folk  draw 
a  veil  over." 

"The  book  made  a  great  sensation,"  said  Angela. 
"I  heard  of  one  man  who  carried  it  about  with  him, 
and  wept  over  it.  And — there  are  always  different 
points  of  view,  are  n't  there?  It  bored  Flossie  to  tears. 
He  went  to  sleep  over  it,  I  believe." 

Jock  looked  at  her  with  a  puzzled  expression  in  his 
eyes.  He  did  not  know  that  she  was  testing  him;  he 
could  not  understand  her  mood. 

"I  was  not  thinking  of  how  a  book  of  that  sort  would 
affect  Lord  Francis,"  he  said.     "It  wouldn't  affect 

I  him — I  mean,  influence  him.     But  it  would  others." 
Angela  waited  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  said  in  a 
low  voice: 
"You  are  vexed  with  me,  Jock?" 
"I  wish  you  had  not  read  that  book,"  he  said 
bluntly. 


244  Bawbee  Jock 

"  Do  you  think  I  read  it  because  I  like  that  kind  of 
book?"  she  asked. 

"  You  knew  all  about  it,"  he  said.  "  You  must — to 
have  understood  my  point  of  view." 

"That  was  just  it.  I  wanted  to  hear  your  point  of 
view;  and  now  that  I  have  heard  it,  I  woiild  Hke  you 
to  hear  mine." 

He  was  about  to  answer,  but  she  did  not  wait. 

"  That  type  of  book  is  not  peculiar.  There  must  be 
a  demand  for  it,  or  else  the  taste  would  not  be  catered 
to — and  it  pays,  of  course.  Money!  You  may  be 
sure  it  pays.  Jock,  I  read  that  book  because —  It 
was  curiosity  made  me  do  it !  Every  one  was  talking 
about  it,  and —  Well,  I  read  it."  She  sat  up;  her 
cheeks  flushed  hotly.  "I  hated  myself  after  I  had 
read  it.  That  was  the  feeling  it  gave  me — hatred  of 
myself!  It  seemed  to  me  a  masquerade — a  horrible 
perverting  of  Nature." 

She  stopped  and  caught  in  her  breath  with  a  half- 
sob.  Then  suddenly,  without  any  warning,  she 
slipped  from  her  seat  on  the  sofa;  and  before  Jock 
knew  what  she  was  going  to  do,  he  found  her  kneeling 
beside  his  chair. 

"It  hurt  me  so  when  you  would  not  take  my  hand 
just  now,"  she  said.  "I  was  sorry  at  the  time  for 
reading  that  book;  but  I  am  more  sorry  now  than  I 
was  then."  The  tears  brimmed  up  to  her  eyes.  "I 
know  what  yotir  love  is  to  me,"  she  continued  in  a  low 
voice, — "what  a  husband's  love  can  be.  It — it 's  un- 
forgivable that  a  girl  should  get  the  hateful  idea  into 
her  head  that  a  man's  love  is  to  be  judged  by  the 
standard  of  a  book  like  that!" 

But  Jock  was  still  strangely  unresponsive.    She 


A  Discussion  245 

moved  back  from  him,  and  sat  down  on  the  fender- 
stool.  She  looked  at  the  smouldering  heap  in  the 
fire. 

"  It  was  written  by  a  woman,"  she  said. 

"I  know  it  was.  I  'm  sorry,"  said  Jock.  "  Perhaps 
there  *s  some  excuse  in  that ;  she  hits  in  the  dark.  A 
man  revolts  against  seeing  himself  dissected  like 
that.  I  'm  sorry  that  women  write  this  sort  of  books. 
They  *re  women,  and — well,  I  think  they  might  give  us 
something  better." 

Angela  sat  very  still  for  some  time.  There  was  a 
cloud  between  them,  and  it  hiirt  her. 

"Jock!  when  are  you  going  to  take  me  back  to 
yoiir  heart  again?"  she  faltered,  when  she  could  bear 
his  silence  no  longer.  She  had  turned  her  face  to  him, 
and  he  saw  that  her  eyelashes  were  wet. 

"You  were  never  out  of  my  heart — that  could  not 
be,"  he  said  quickly. 

"We  were  not  quarrelling,  were  we?  We  were  only 
finding  out  a  little  more  about  each  other,"  she  said. 
"Are  you  beginning  to  discover  what  a  complicated 
thing  a  woman  is?" 

"If  they  only  realised  how  they  can  make  or  mar 
us!"  said  Jock. 

"And  how  you  men  can  make  or  mar  us,"  she 
answered  quickly.  "Don't  forget  that  we  are  the 
weaker.  And  when  we  love — we  never  count  the 
cost." 

"  I  don't  forget  that,"  he  replied  gravely.  "  But  we 
ought  to  get  otir  best  from  you." 

"  It  ought  to  be  give  and  take,"  said  Angela.  "  Like 
the  beautiful  description  of  Tennyson's  lovers  in  The 
Princess  y 


246  Bawbee  Jock 

Jock  was  looking  beyond  her  into  the  red  glow  of  the 
peat-sods.     She  saw  his  lips  move : 

"  For  woman  is  not  undeveloped  man, 
But  diverse:  could  we  make  her  as  the  man, 
Sweet  Love  were  slain :  his  dearest  bond  is  this. 
Not  like  to  like,  but  like  in  difference." 

His  voice  rose  and  fell  with  a  musical  rhythm  of 
enunciation  which  told  that  the  beauty  of  the  passage 
he  quoted  was  to  him  a  thing  loved  and  familiar. 

"You  know  my  Princess?"  cried  Angela.  "And 
oh!  Jock,  you  never  told  me  you  had  such  a  lovely 
voice." 

"Is  n't  it  my  usual  voice?"  he  asked. 

"No,  not  a  bit,"  she  answered.  "At  least — oh !  you 
know  what  I  mean." 

"  I  'm  very  fond  of  poetry,"  said  Jock.  "  If  you  are 
a  poor  hand  at  expressing  yourself,  it  helps  you  to  put 
into  words  thoughts  which  have  been  in  your  mind, 
but  which  you  have  not  been  able  to  express  for 
yotirself." 

"Jock,  you  can  never  say  after  to-night  that  yotir 
tongue  is  like  a  stiflf  key  in  a  rusty  lock,"  said  Angela. 
"When  you  are  roused  you  find  no  difficulty  in  ex- 
pressing yourself.  And — you  understand  poetry,  too. 
Go  on  from  where  you  stopped.  That  last  bit  in  the 
last  scene  of  all — I  love  it  so." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"My  memory  is  not  so  good  as  you  think."  He 
went  over  to  the  book-shelf  and  came  back  with  the 
volume  he  had  quoted  from  in  his  hand.  He  opened 
it  and  held  it  out  to  her.  "You  said  you  did  not  like 
being  read  to!" 


A  Discussion  247 

"  Jock !  How  unkind  of  you  to  remind  me  of  that," 
she  answered  reproachfully. 

He  took  back  the  book,  and  sitting  down  beside  her 
on  the  fender-stool,  with  the  fire-glow  lighting  the 
page,  he  read  to  her  that  most  sweet  of  noble  lessons — 
of  Love  blended  in  the  perfect  harmony  of  man  and 
wife's  equality. 

"The  very  last  bit  over  again,"  whispered  Angela — 
"where  he  asks  her  to  trust  him  utterly" : 

"  My  hopes  and  thine  are  one: 
Accomplish  thou  my  manhood  and  thyself; 
Lay  thy  sweet  hands  in  mine  and  trust  to  me." 

She  put  out  her  hand  hesitatingly,  and  laid  it  where 
it  had  lain  before — and  been  rejected.  But  this  time 
it  was  taken  in  his. 

"Did  you  feel  that  I  had  failed  you?"  she  asked. 
"Had  I  lost  purity  in  your  eyes?" 

"No,"  he  answered  slowly;  "that  was  not  my 
feeling.  I  think  it  was  because — you  are  my  wife. 
Something  in  that — that  thing  that  I  burnt — made 
me  feel  that  it  was  I  who  was  lowered  in  your  eyes." 

She  touched  the  open  page. 

"You  don't  feel  like  that  now?" 

"No,"  he  answered.  And,  bending  down,  he 
kissed  her  on  her  brow. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

CHRISTMAS-TIDE 

ON  Christmas  Eve  they  decorated  the  little  house 
together    and    made    it    look    appropriately 
festive. 

Angela  stood  and  looked  on,  whilst  Jock  carried  out 
her  suggestions.  He  had  twined  a  wreath  of  holly 
round  her  sickle,  and  was  putting  the  finishing  touches 
to  the  old  eight-day  clock  in  the  hall. 

" Poor  thing ! "  said  Angela.  "It  does  n't  like  these 
pricky  bits  round  its  chin."  She  laughed.  "It  looks 
so  apologetically  self-conscious,  does  n't  it?  Like  a 
man  who  's  been  growing  a  beard  in  the  dark,  and 
hiirried  out  before  he  was  quite  sure  whether  it  suited 
him  or  not." 

Jock  tucked  some  stems  of  the  holly  out  of  sight  and 
came  over  to  where  she  was  standing. 

"  It  will  soon  be  time  for  us  to  get  ready  to  go  down 
to  the  clachan,"  he  said. 

"They  have  made  the  barn  so  pretty,"  said  Angela. 
"  I  peeped  in  this  afternoon  to  see  the  decorations,  and 
the  supper-table  made  me  feel  quite  hungry.  Shall 
I  have  to  dance  a  reel?  And  oh!  Jock,  shall  I  have 
to  drink  whiskey?  " 

"You  can  pretend  to  drink  some,"  answered  Jock. 

Angela  glanced  at  the  clock. 
248 


Christmas-Tide  249 

"I  shall  go  and  dress  now.  Shall  I  wear  the  dress 
I  was  married  in?  It 's  the  prettiest  white  one  I  've 
got." 

"Yes,"  said  Jock,  "wear  your  wedding-dress.  And 
— put  a  blue  ribbon  in  your  hair." 

Half  an  hour  later  she  was  standing  in  the  hall, 
tucking  up  her  skirts  preparatory  to  walking  down  to 
the  bam,  where  the  evening's  entertainment  was  to 
take  place.     She  paused  in  the  act  of  fastening  a  pin,  _ 
and  looked  Jock  up  and  down  critically. 

"My  frock  is  quite  pretty,  but  I  'm  not  sure  that 
it 's  suitable  for  the  occasion,"  she  said  doubtfully. 
"You  're  all  right!  Quite  as  chief tainy  as  you  were 
that  night — the  night  of  the  tableaux  when  you  danced 
the  sword-dance  for  me;  but" — she  glanced  at  her 
skirts — "I  ought  to  have  a  tartan  sash  round  my 
waist,  and  a  string  of  cairngorms  round  my  neck, 
and  an  eagle's  feather  in  my  hair,  instead  of  this 
blue  ribbon." 

"  I  like  you  as  you  are,"  said  Jock.  He  wrapped  her 
tartan  plaid  round  her.  "  If  they  see  you  in  this,  it 's 
quite  good  enough.     Now!    Are  you  ready?" 

Angela  gave  a  pirouette  round  on  her  toes. 

"I  believe  I  could  dance  a  reel  as  easily  as  tumble 
off  a  wall,"  she  declared.  "  It 's  all  a  matter  of  clothes 
— or  rather  the  want  of  them.  Don't  look  so  shocked, 
dearest!  If  I  had  on  your  kilt,  and  heard  the  bag- 
pipes— I  mean  pipes —  Shall  I  ever  remember  that 
I  must  call  them  the  pipes?  It 's  such  swagger  of  you 
Highlanders  to  claim  the  monopoly  of  words  the  way 
you  do.  You  always  talk  of  wearing  the  kilt  and 
playing  the  pipes!"  She  gave  a  final  twinkle  of  her 
feet   and    landed   beside   him.     "Now    I  'm   ready! 


250  Bawbee  Jock 

Where  's  the  lantern?  Is  n't  it  funny?  We  might 
be  the  people  in  one  of  those  delicious  old-fashioned 
books  like  Cranford  going  out  to  a  tea-party.  This 
is  n't  a  tea-party ;  it 's  my  one  Christmas  ball,  and  I 
am  going  to  enjoy  it  enormously." 

She  did  enjoy  it,  and  she  made  every  one  else  enjoy 
it,  too.  It  was  in  the  sunny  sweetness  of  her  nature 
to  spread  joy.  These  Highlanders,  a  proud  race 
and  loyal  in  their  pride,  all  fell  under  the  spell  of  her 
charm.  It  was  given  her  to  win  hearts,  and  she  ac- 
cepted their  homage  with  a  sweet  grace  which  stamped 
her  personality  on  all  that  she  said  and  did:  she  was 
irresistible. 

"For  long  will  this  day  be  remembered;  and  there 
is  no  Chief  of  Glenmoira  who  has  brought  such  a 
beautiful  lady  to  the  glen  before,  whatever!"  was  the 
summing  up  of  old  Donald.  In  a  long  speech,  which 
was  declaimed  in  a  strange  blending  of  Gaelic  and 
English,  he  voiced  the  sentiment  of  the  assembled 
gathering  of  the  clan. 

"He  might  have  called  me  your  wife,"  remarked 
Angela  afterwards.  "*A  beautiful  lady*  sounded 
rather  promiscuous." 

"I  expect  he  thought  'lady'  sounded  more  polite," 
answered  Jock. 

But  the  ctdminating  triumph  of  the  evening  came 
when,  after  supper  was  over,  and  the  speeches  had 
been  responded  to,  and  Angela  had  touched  with  her 
lips  the  whiskey  in  the  little  silver  quaich  presented 
to  her,  Jock,  to  his  unbounded  astonishment,  saw  her 
step  into  the  middle  of  the  floor  with  old  Donald  as 
her  partner  and  dance  a  reel! 

She  was  quite  serious  and  grave  over  it,  and  her 


Christmas-Tide  251 

little  hesitations  and  mistakes  were  more  telling 
than  would  have  been  the  most  practised  air  of 
proficiency. 

Jock  watched  her.  She  held  herself  with  such  a 
pretty  air  of  dignity,  and  she  was  full  of  graciousness 
to  the  old  man,  who  felt  his  honour  reflected  in  the 
faces  of  those  who  looked  on;  and  he  was  conscious 
of  a  glow  of  pride  mingled  with  a  rush  of  bitterness. 

"  If  I  could  only  put  her  in  the  place  where  she  ought 
to  be!"  was  his  inward  thought. 

"What  did  you  think  of  my  reel  dancing?"  she 
asked,  when  they  were  once  more  back  in  the  hall 
and  she  was  unpinning  her  skirts  instead  of  tucking 
them  up. 

"  I  shall  never  be  surprised  at  anything  you  do,  after 
this  evening,"  he  answered. 

"  It  was  n't  bad  for  a  first  attempt,  was  it?  "  she  said. 
"I  told  you  it  was  as  easy  as  tumbling  off  a  wall. 
I  made  up  those  steps  for  myself.  Weren't  they 
pretty?" 

Jock  laughed. 

"They  were  not  steps.  Do  you  think  I  wasn't 
watching  you?  But  you  managed  very  cleverly.  It 
was  a  pretty  fair  imitation  of  the  real  thing." 

"I  danced  as  well  as  any  one  there,"  maintained 
Angela  stoutly.  "Why,  Hamish  and  Donald! — they 
did  not  do  any  steps.  They  only  shuffled  their  feet 
about  and  rubbed  their  backs  up  against  each  other, 
and  then  shuffled  their  feet  again." 

"You  wouldn't  exactly  pick  out  Hamish  and 
Donald  as  show  dancers,"  said  Jock.  " Some  girls  are 
beautiful  reel  dancers,"  he  added.  "It  's  quite  a  sight 
at  the  Highland  balls  to  see  them.     I  wish  I  could 


252  Bawbee  Jock 

take  you  to  one  of  the  gatherings,  and  show  you  what 
pretty  dancing  is." 

Angela  came  and  stood  in  front  of  him.  Her  chin 
was  tilted  in  the  air. 

"If  you  think  that  telling  me  these  things  is  en- 
couraging, all  I  can  say  is  that  it  isn't!  It 's  very 
depressing !  You  're  puffed  up  with  Highland  pride — 
you  know  you  are!  I  'm  not  a  Highlander,  and  I 
don't  believe  I  will  ever  be  able  to  make  myself  into 
one.  I  did  try  so  hard  to-night,  and  you  have  not 
praised  me  one  tiny  bit.  You  only  said — I  was  a 
pretty  fair  imitation  of  the  real  thing." 

And  then  he  had  to  tell  her  what  he  really  thought 
of  her,  and  the  pretty  things  he  had  heard  said  about 
her  as  well ;  and  she  was  appeased  and  allowed  herself 
to  be  comforted. 

"But  you  mustn't  get  into  the  way  of  being  too 
husbandy,  and  taking  things  for  granted,"  she  said, 
as  a  warning.  "It  does  n't  do  wives  any  harm  to  be 
told  nice  things.  Love  never  hurts.  You  must  n't 
forget  that." 

The  eight-day  clock  began  to  make  a  soft,  whirring 
sound  somewhere  in  the  depths  of  its  machinery  at 
that  moment,  and  she  looked  at  it. 

"It  is  going  to  strike  twelve,"  she  said,  in  a  hushed 
voice.     "Listen!     Let  us  count  the  strokes." 

As  the  last  chime  sent  its  musical  note  vibrating 
through  the  low  hall,  Angela  said  softly: 

"  Now  it  is  Christmas  Day — our  first  Christmas  Day 
together.  Everything  that  this  year  brings  round 
is  marked  like  that — the  beginnings  of  things — 
together." 

"Please  God,  I  hope  we  will  begin  and  end  many 


Christmas-Tide  253 

things  together  in  the  years  to  come,"  answered 
Jock. 

"But  no  year  can  ever , be  the  same  as  this  one,"  she 
persisted  gently.  "Soon  that  old  clock  will  chime  in 
a  New  Year;  but — our  New  Year  began  on  our 
wedding-day,  didn't  it?"  With  one  of  her  pretty 
impulsivenesses  she  raised  his  hand  and  touched  it 
with  her  lips.  "You  have  made  me  very  happy — 
very  happy,"  she  repeated.  "I  do  not  believe  there 
is  a  happier  woman  than  I  am  in  the  whole  world 
to-night." 

"Say  that  again!  It  makes  me  so  proud!"  he  said 
quickly,  and  a  glad  light  leapt  into  his  eyes. 

The  old  clock  ticked  on;  it  was  five  minutes  past 
twelve  now. 

"Jock,  let  me  give  you  my  Christmas  present,"  said 
Angela.     "  It  is  really  Christmas  Day." 

' '  A  Christmas  present ,"  said  Jock.  "  Have  you  got 
a  Christmas  present  for  me?" 

"Wait  here,  and  you  will  see." 

She  ran  into  the  room  beyond  and  came  back  with  a 
small  parcel  in  her  hand. 

"Now,"  she  said,  "you  will  see  why  I  stole  your 
bawbees.  It  was  to  buy  you  a  Christmas  present. 
Untie  the  string  quick  and  take  off  the  paper ;  I  am  so 
excited  to  see  whether  you  will  like  it  or  not.  It  has 
been  hidden  in  my  work-basket  for  days.  If  you  ever 
want  to  find  out  my  secrets,  go  and  look  in  my 
work-basket." 

Jock  unfastened  the  string  and  took  out  from  the 
paper  a  small  flat  leather  case.  He  touched  the  spring 
at  the  side,  and  it  opened,  and  Angela's  face  looked  up 
S,thim, 


254  Bawbee  Jock 

"You!"  was  all  he  said.  He  drew  her  up  to  the 
light,  and  studied  the  painted  face  in  his  hand  and  the 
real  living  one,  and  compared  them  again  and  again. 
"  It 's  ahnost  perfect,"  he  said.     "  Who  did  it?  " 

"  It  was  painted  from  a  photograph.  But  you  must 
not  ask  too  many  questions,"  she  added  hurriedly. 
"Be  content  with  the  fact  that  it  is  me." 

"I  am  content,"  he  said — "more  than  content." 
And  he  thanked  her  in  the  way  that  she  expected  he 
would. 

Then  he  studied  the  miniature  again. 
)  "Whoever  did  it  is  a  first-class  artist,"  he  remarked. 

She  blushed. 

"  I  have  n't  paid  for  it  yet,"  she  said.  "  I  think  I  '11 
have  to  go  on  reiving  a  little  longer.  Bawbees  take 
such  a  long  time  to  collect.  I  said  I  woiild  stop  turn- 
ing out  your  pockets  after  Christmas;  but " 

Jock  looked  pleased. 

"Yes,  I  think  you  had  better  go  on  reiving  a  bit 
longer,"  he  said. 

She  laughed. 

"You  know  you  loved  having  your  bawbees  stolen. 
You  would  have  missed  it  dreadfully  if  I  had 
stopped." 

He  shut  up  the  case  and  put  it  in  the  inside  pocket 
of  his  coat.  He  stood  undecidedly  for  a  few  moments, 
and  then,  without  explaining  what  he  was  going  to  do, 
he  put  his  arm  through  hers  and  led  her  into  the  other 
room.  Seating  himself  at  his  writing-table  he  drew 
her  down  beside  him,  as  he  had  done  once  before. 

"  Are  we  going  to  sign  our  names  again  in  the  family 
Bible?"  she  asked. 

For  answer  he  unlocked  one  of  the  deep  drawers  of 


Christmas-Tide  255 

the  writing-table,  and  taking  out  an  ordinary-looking 
wooden  box,  laid  it  in  front  of  her. 

"Open  it,"  he  said,  "and  see  what  is  inside." 

"How  mysterious  you  are!"  she  said.  "It's  a 
very  common  kind  of'  box."  And  she  took  off  the 
lid. 

"  It  *s  a  common  kind  of  box  on  purpose,"  said  Jock. 
"  It  went  a  journey  with  me  not  so  very  long  ago,  and 
the  commonness  of  the  box  was  its  safeguard." 

Her  fingers  were  busy  inside  the  box. 

"I  'm  coming  on  something,"  she  said.  "It  feels 
hard." 

She  lifted  out  a  bundle  of  something  wrapped  in 
cotton  wool,  and  carefully  opened  it.  "Oh,  Jock! 
How  beautiful ! — how  beautiful ! ' '  she  exclaimed.  She 
bent  over  the  table  and  gazed  in  astonished  admiration 
at  the  exquisite  rope  of  pearls  which  lay  in  a  shim- 
mering coil  before  her.  "Each  one  is  more  perfect 
than  the  other,"  she  said,  touching  the  beautiful  things 
caressingly  with  her  finger. 

She  glanced  up  into  Jock's  face,  and  a  quick  flash  of 
memory  brought  back  to  her  the  scene  in  the  hall  at 
Glenmoira,  when  she  had  stood  beside  him  imder  the 
picture  of  his  lovely  ancestress. 

He  knew  that  she  understood. 

"I  wished  then  that  I  could  have  given  you  the 
pearls,  as  well  as  the  dress,"  he  said.  "Do  you  re- 
member that  same  afternoon  when  we  were  sitting 
together  on  the  brown  box  up  in  the  attic,  and  you 
asked  me  why,  if  I  was  a  Highlander,  I  did  n't  wear 
the  kilt  ?     And  I  said ' ' 

"Yes.  You  said  you  had  been  south  on  business," 
she  broke  in  quickly.     "I  remember!" 


256  Bawbee  Jock 

"  I  had  been  trying  to  sell  these."  Jock  touched  the 
rope  of  pearls.  "I  hated  doing  it,  but  I  wanted — 
money.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  sell  them.  I 
left  them  with  a  man  who  was  going  to  do  the 
business  for  me,  and — you  saved  them." 

' '  I  saved  them !     I ! "  exclaimed  Angela. 

* '  Yes,  you  saved  them.  Do  you  remember  you  stood 
in  front  of  the  picture,  and  you  looked  up  at  it  and 
you  touched  your  neck  just  there  ? '  *  He  put  his  hand 
on  the  place.  "And  you  said,  'She  's  got  beautiful 
pearls,  and  I  've  got  no  pearls — nothing  but  my  own 
neck.'" 

"Did  I  say  that?  It  was  like  asking.  It  was 
horrid  of  me." 

"I  didn't  think  it  was  horrid,"  he  said.  "I  only 
felt  that  they  belonged  to  you.  I  could  n't  have  sold 
them  after  that.  I  made  the  man  give  them  up  and 
send  them  back  to  me."  He  lifted  the  pearls  and 
clasped  them  round  her  neck.  "They  're  yours  now. 
The  chief's  wife  has  the  right  to  wear  them,  hasn't 
she?"  And  he  smiled  rather  sadly,  for  he  seldom 
made  any  reference  to  his  rank  or  position.  "I  'm 
afraid  they  're  not  much  use  to  you,  living  as  we  do. 
But  they  're  yours  now.  I  shall  never  part  with 
them,  except  with  your  consent." 

After  a  Httle  while  Angela  unfastened  the  diamond 
heart  which  clasped  the  pearls  round  her  neck,  and 
making  a  soft  bed  of  the  cotton  wool,  she  laid  the  long 
shining  rope  down  gently,  like  a  human  thing  which 
could  feel  the  tender,  protective  touch  of  her  fingers. 

She  leant  over  it.  Jock  could  not  see  her  face:  only 
the  pearls  could  look  into  her  eyes;  only  they  heard 
the  inward  murmur  of  her  thanksgiving — a  thanks- 


Christmas-Tide  257 

giving  that  they  had  been  snatched  from  the  hands 
of  the  spoiler. 

"I  will  never,  never  let  you  be  torn  away  from  me. 
You  are  quite  safe.  He  says  that  I  saved  you.  Some 
day,  when  you  are  lying  soft  and  warm  on  my  neck,  we 
will  go  and  look  up  at  the  picture  of  the  beautiful  lady 
on  the  wall,  and  I  will  tell  her  that  I  saved  you." 

"What  are  you  whispering  about?"  said  Jock. 
"They're  very  fine  pearls,  aren't  they?  The  man 
was  loath  to  part  with  them.  I  expect  he  had  the 
chance  of  a  good  deal." 

"Hush!  hush!"  whispered  Angela,  and  she  covered 
up  the  pearls  hastily.  "Poor  dears!  they  must  not 
hear  remarks  like  that.  Where  's  the  key,  and  we  will 
lock  them  up  again.  I  should  love  to  wear  them 
sometimes,  just  for  the  joy  of  the  feel  of  them.  Pearls 
ought  to  be  worn,  you  know ;  they  like  to  lie  on  some- 
thing warm  and  living.  But  we  will  put  them  back 
in  the  meantime.     Good-night,  dear  things." 

As  Jock  locked  the  drawer  and  put  the  key  in  his 
pocket,  his  hand  came  in  contact  with  a  letter  which 
lay  there. 

"I  heard  from  AHster  this  evening,"  he  said.  , 

"Oh!"  said  Angela.  The  feeling  of  resentment, 
which  the  mention  of  Alister's  name  always  caused, 
stirred  within  her. 

"  It 's  the  first  letter  he  has  written  to  me  since  he 
heard  of  my  marriage,"  said  Jock.  He  looked  sad  and 
troubled. 

"  Jock,  I  hate  any  one  who  brings  that  look  into  your 
face,"  biurst  out  Angela  impulsively. 

"You  wouldn't  hate  Alister,"  he  said.  "No  one 
ever  hated  him,  whatever  he  did." 

X7 


258  Bawbee  Jock 

"  He  makes  me  feel  horrid,  all  the  same.  What  does 
he  say  about — your  marriage?" 

"He  says  very  little,"  answered  Jock,  "And  very 
little  about  himself.     That 's  always  a  bad  sign." 

"Jock,"  she  exclaimed  irrelevantly,  "I  'm  so  glad 
that  I  saved  the  pearls.  I — I  would  like  to  save  other 
things  too.  You  know  that  I  would  give  up  every- 
thing in  the  world  for  you,  don't  you?" 

He  stroked  her  hair  fondly. 

"Say  it  after  me,"  she  pleaded.  "Say,  *I  would 
give  up  everything  in  the  world  for  you.'  " 

And  he  repeated  the  words  after  her. 


CHAPTER  XXII 
Angela's  secret 

CHRISTMAS  became  a  thing  of  the  past,  and  the 
New  Year  broke  clear  and  cold,  with  a  thin 
newness  in  the  bite  of  its  sharp  north  wind;  there 
came  a  heavy  snow-storm  which  draped  the  hills  and 
the  glens  in  a  thick  mantle  of  white,  and  Angela  saw 
her  Highland  home  under  a  fresh  aspect.  She  said 
she  loved  it  so,  and  thought  it  was  quite  as  beautiful 
in  its  dazzling  whiteness,  with  the  loch  lying  black  and 
still  and  the  snow-capped  peaks  glistening  against  the 
blue  sky,  as  in  the  crimson  and  gold  of  its  auttmin 
beauty. 

The  snow  did  not  last.  It  melted  almost  as  quickly 
as  it  had  fallen,  and  a  long  spell  of  broken  and  un- 
settled weather  followed. 

The  days  began  to  lengthen,  but  they  were  grey  and 
cheerless,  and  the  outside  world  was  not  encouraging. 
Angela  never  grumbled,  although  she  was  necessarily 
left  for  many  hours  by  herself.  Jock's  work  took  him 
out  in  all  weathers,  and  sometimes,  when  he  had 
business  to  attend  to  at  a  distance,  she  was  left  for  the 
best  part  of  the  day  alone. 

"I  miss  you  dreadfully,  but  there  is  always  the 
looking  forward  to  your  coming  back,"  she  would  say 
cheerfully.  "That  first  day  I  was  left  alone  I  did  not 
.  259 


26o  Bawbee  Jock 

know  what  to  settle  to;  but  now — I  find  heaps  of 
things  to  do.  This,"  and  she  patted  her  work-basket, 
"helps  me  to  pass  the  time.  I  'm  becoming  so 
domesticated.  I  shall  soon  be  threading  needles  in 
my  sleep." 

"I  can't  imagine  the  house  now  without  the  things 
that  seem  part  of  you,"  said  Jock.  "I  don't  know 
what  you  've  done  to  it.  It 's  the  same,  and  yet 
you  've  changed  the  look  of  ever3rthing." 

It  was  the  last  day  of  February — a  dull,  colotirless 
afternoon.  Angela  was  standing  by  the  window,  and 
drew  Jock's  attention  to  some  birds  which  were  flying 
in  a  V-shaped  line  over  the  loch. 

"Duck!"  said  Jock. 

"You  have  never  gone  duck-shooting,"  she  said. 
"  Do  you  remember  you  said  you  would  take  me  with 
you  when  you  did?" 

Jock  was  following  the  duck  with  his  eyes. 

"I  might  take  my  gun  and  have  a  stalk,"  he  said. 
"A  last  chance  of  filling  the  larder." 

"Can't  you  go  on  shooting  after  this?"  she  asked. 

"Not  after  to-morrow.  Yes,  I  think  I  '11  have  a  try 
after  them;  but  you  must  n't  come." 

"Why  not?"  she  said. 

"It's  nasty,  cold  work  hanging  about;  and  the 
ground  is  so  wet,"  he  said. 

"I  want  some  fresh  air  badly,"  she  answered.  "It 
has  rained  so,  I  have  n't  been  able  to  get  out  for  days." 

He  looked  at  her,  and  then  he  put  his  hand  on  her 
shoulder  and  turned  her  round  to  make  her  face  him. 

"You  're  losing  all  the  pretty  colour  you  had  at 
harvest- time,"  he  said.  "Is  it  the  damp?  Does  it 
make  you  feel  slack?  " 


Angela's  Secret  261 

"Oh!  I  'm  all  right,"  she  answered,  trying  to  turn 
her  head  aside.  "Do  take  me,"  she  persisted. 
"What  happens?    How  do  you  get  them?" 

"I  generally  shoot  them  in  the  evenings,  waiting  for 
flighting,"  he  said. 

"Flighting!  What  *s  flighting?  It  sounds  ro- 
mantic." 

"It 's  when  they  *re  flj^ng  from  the  loch  to  some 
feeding-ground  near.  It 's  more  conducive  to  rheu- 
matism than  romance.  It  means  sitting  behind  a 
wall  in  a  wet  ploughed  field." 

"Never  mind  the  rheumatism,"  said  Angela.  " It 's 
beginning  to  get  dusk  now.  I  'm  going  to  put  on  my 
things.     Go  and  fetch  your  gun." 

"  I  have  n't  made  up  my  mind  yet  whether  I  '11  take 
you." 

"Oh,  you  cautious  old  Scotchy!  If  I  wait  tmtil 
you  have  made  up  your  mind,  I " 

She  was  half-way  upstairs  before  she  had  finished 
her  sentence,  and  he  never  heard  the  end  of  it.  When 
she  came  down  again,  ready  dressed,  he  fixed  his  eyes 
severely  on  her  boots. 

"These  are  not  your  thickest  boots,"  he  said. 

She  picked  out  a  stick  from  the  rack,  and  brushing 
past  him,  escaped  into  the  garden. 

"It  will  be  dark  before  we  make  a  start,"  she  called 
back;  and  he  shouldered  his  gun  and  followed  her. 

But  the  duck-shoot  was  a  failure.  It  was  the  first 
expedition  of  the  kind  which  had  turned  out  unsuccess- 
fully; and  though  Jock  had  tried  to  persuade  Angela 
not  to  come,  he  was  sorry  that  she  was  disappointed. 
There  was  no  flighting!  Whatever  spot  the  ducks 
had  chosen  that  evening  for  their  feeding-ground  was 


262  Bawbee  Jock 

known  to  themselves  alone.  Jock  changed  his  place 
several  times,  for  he  knew  their  haunts;  but  when  the 
dusk  deepened  and  a  cold  drizzle  began  to  wrap  the 
hills  in  its  clammy  shroud,  they  turned  their  faces 
homeward. 

"Well,  I  must  own  that  it  is  cold  fim,"  said  Angela. 
"  Crouching  up  behind  a  stone  wall,  with  your  feet  in  a 
puddle,  and  a  Scotch  mist,  as  you  poetically  call  rain, 
soaking  into  you,  is  n't  exciting  enough  to  keep  you 
warm." 

She  walked  very  slowly,  and  as  they  went  up  the 
garden  path  to  the  front  door,  he  noticed  it,  and  held 
out  his  hand. 

"Is  your  ankle  tired?  Shall  I  give  you  a  pull?" 
he  said;  and  she  seemed  to  catch  readily  at  the 
suggestion. 

As  he  opened  the  door  for  her  and  the  light  from 
the  hall  lamp  fell  full  on  her  face,  he  uttered  a  sharp 
exclamation. 

"It 's  all  right,"  she  said.     "I  'm  only  so— cold." 

She  dropped  his  hand,  and  walking  on  into  the  room 
beyond  the  hall,  she  sat  down  rather  hurriedly  in  his 
big  arm-chair.  He  threw  some  fresh  wood  on  the 
fire.  It  was  dry  and  burst  into  a  blaze,  and  the  light 
danced  on  the  walls  and  the  ceiling  and  on  Angela 
sitting  in  the  big  chair.  She  looked  very  small  and 
white  and  fragile,  but  she  smiled  at  him  as  he  stood 
over  her. 

"I  'm  all  right,"  she  said. 

"Your  lips  have  n't  a  bit  of  colour  in  them,  and  your 
teeth  are  chattering,"  he  answered.  He  knelt  down 
on  the  rug  beside  her,  and,  taking  one  of  her  feet  in 
his  hand,  began  to  unfasten  the  laces  of  her  boots. 


Angela's  Secret  263 

Her  boots  were  so  wet  that  they  clung  to  her  stockings. 
"Why  did  you  not  tell  me  you  were  so  cold?"  he  said, 
keen  reproach  in  his  voice.  He  laid  down  the  wet 
boots  and  took  off  her  stockings,  and  stretching  across 
to  the  sofa  picked  up  Christina's  green  cushion  and, 
propping  it  against  the  fender-stool,  made  a  rest  for 
her  feet. 

"It  will  hurt  it,"  protested  Angela  feebly.  "The 
fire  will  scorch  the  satin." 

He  took  no  notice  of  her  remonstrance,  and  when  she 
spread  out  her  chilled  hands  to  the  blaze,  he  took  them 
in  his  and  chafed  them. 

"How  nice  and  warm  you  are!"  she  murmured. 
"Human  warmth  is  much  better  than  fire  warmth, 
is  n't  it?  I  feel  the  circulation  coming  tingling  back 
all  over  me." 

He  continued  chafing  her  hands  until  the  colour 
returned  to  her  lips.  The  expression  of  misery  in  his 
eyes  made  her  feel  tremulously  happy  one  moment  and 
sorry  for  him  the  next. 

"  If  he  keeps  on  looking  at  me  like  that  I  shall  cry," 
she  told  herself.  And  when,  after  a  few  minutes,  he 
suggested  that  he  should  go  and  tell  Sheila  to  bring  in 
tea,  she  forced  a  smile,  and  watched  him  leave  the 
room  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

She  leant  back  and  closed  her  eyes. 

"  I  hope  he  '11  stay  away  for  a  little.  I  simply  can't 
bear  to  see  him  looking  at  me  like  that.  I  can't  bear  to 
frighten  him,  and  he's  dreadfully  frightened.  What 
am  I  to  do? — what  ought  I  to  do?     My  poor  dear!" 

She  heard  him  go  into  the  kitchen  and  speak  to 
Sheila,  and  then  she  heard  him  go  upstairs. 

" He  's  in  my  room  now.     What  can  he  be  doing?'* 


264  Bawbee  Jock 

she  wondered  dreamily.  The  warmth  was  stealing 
over  her  with  a  sense  of  comfort,  but  she  felt  limp  and 
languid  and  tired.  Presently  she  heard  Jock  come 
downstairs  again.  He  .entered  the  room  very  quietly, 
and  she  saw  that  he  was  carrying  her  slippers  and  a 
pair  of  dry  stockings. 

"Oh,  Jock!"  she  exclaimed. 

"You  're  beginning  to  look  better,"  he  said  in  a 
voice  of  relief. 

He  arranged  the  slippers  with  their  soles  uppermost 
inside  the  fender,  and  laid  the  stockings  on  the  green 
cushion. 

"Jock,  what  a  delicious  old  maid  you  are!"  said 
Angela,  struggling  with  an  hysterical  inclination  be- 
tween laughter  and  tears.  "Who  taught  you  to  do 
this  kind  of  things?" 

"No  one  taught  me,"  he  answered.  "If  you're 
very  fond  of  any  one,  that  teaches  you." 

Sheila  brought  in  the  tea,  and  he  poured  out  An- 
gela's, and  then  sat  down  on  the  fender-stool  and 
scrutinised  her  face  anxiously. 

"I  shall  never  forgive  myself  if  you've  caught  a 
chill,"  he  said. 

"It  was  my  own  fault,"  she  answered.  "I  would 
not  listen  to  you.  You  told  me  that  my  boots  were 
too  thin." 

"That  does  n't  matter,"  he  said.  "If  you  were  to 
get  iU,  I  don't  know  what  I  shovdd  do.  It  wotdd  send 
me  off  my  head,  I  think." 

"Oh,  Jock!  you  mustn't  say  such  things,'*  she 
remonstrated. 

"Yes,  it  would,"  he  answered.  "I  should  think  it 
was  my  fault  for  not  taking  care  of  you," 


Angela's  Secret  265 

"Please,  may  I  have  some  more  tea?"  she  said, 
giving  him  her  cup ;  and  he  rose  and  went  over  to  the 
tea-table. 

She  shook  her  head  at  the  crackling  logs. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  she  said  to  herself.  "Shall  I 
keep  it  a  secret  just  for  a  little  while?  Would  he  be 
angry  with  me  if  I  did?  It 's  very  puzzling.  I  want 
to  save  him  from  worrying ;  but  I  want  to  tell  him.  I 
want  to — dreadfully  badly.  But  if  it  means  that  he 
will  go  about  with  that  look  on  his  face,  and  fuss 
himself  ill,  perhaps  I  ought  n't  to."  A  flame  broke 
from  the  logs  and  danced  merrily  up  the  chimney.  "  I 
shall  put  off  for  a  little  while.  It 's  for  his  own  sake. 
It 's  very  imselfish  of  me,  because  I  want  so  much  to 
tell  him." 

Jock  returned  with  her  tea-cup. 

"Are  your  feet  quite  warm  now?"  he  asked. 

"Quite  warm — they  're  beautifully  toasted."  She 
looked  down.  "Did  you  ever  see  such  ridiculously 
useless-looking  things?"  she  said.  "Ten  stupid  little 
pink  toes — like  dolls'  toes;  they  ought  to  be  brown 
and  hard.  A  real  working  woman  would  go  barefoot, 
would  n't  she?  At  least,  she  ought  to  if  she  was 
genuine.  Would  you  like  to  see  me  walking  bare- 
foot, Jock?" 

"You  will  never  walk  barefoot,"  he  answered. 

"Well,  I  would  not  like  the  thorns,"  she  said. 

He  put  his  hand  protectingly  over  the  ridiculous 
little  useless  things. 

"  God  help  me,  they  '11  never  walk  on  thorns,"  he 
said.  "I  would  carry  you  from  Land's  End  to  John- 
o'-Groat's,  sooner  than  let  one  thorn  pierce  your  dear 
feet," 


266  Bawbee  Jock 

"That 's  a  beautiftd  idea,"  she  said. 

She  was  thoughtful  for  a  few  minutes. 

"Jock,"  she  said  abruptly,  "you  would  really  like 
to  go  back  to  Glenmoira,  would  n't  you?  I  mean  you 
and  I — to  live  there  in  the  way  that  your  father  used 
to  hve." 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  surprised  at  her  asking  such  a 
question. 

"This  kind  of  life  does  not  satisfy  you — even  with 
me,"  she  persisted. 

"It 's  not  a  case  of  being  satisfied.  It 's  a  case  of 
what  I  ought  to  be,"  he  answered.  "I  am  not  a  work- 
ing man — in  the  sense  of  being  a  labouring  man.  It 's 
all  wrong." 

"You  're  a  square  peg  in  a  round  hole,"  she  said. 

"Well,  I  'm  not  doing  what  I  feel  I  ought  to  be 
doing,"  he  answered.  "  I  was  brought  up  to  the  idea 
that  I  was  to  take  my  father's  place  after  him — and 
I  'm  not  doing  it." 

"You  are  doing  the  best  you  can,"  she  said  gently. 
"You  gave  up  your  profession;  and  you  give  your 
time  and  your  brains  and  your  strength  to  keeping 
the  place  together  and  looking  after  your  people. 
That  is  a  great  deal." 

"It 's  better  than  nothing.  But — I  would  like  to 
see  Glenmoira  take  the  position  it  used  to  take.  It  has 
been  handed  down  to  me  from  generation  to  genera- 
tion, and  if  it  had  to  pass  from  my  hands  into  the 
hands  of  a  stranger,  it  would  be  a  lasting  bitterness 
to  me  to  feel  that  it  had  been  lost  during  my  time  of 
stewardship." 

Angela  gave  rather  a  forced  little  laugh. 

"Jock,  do  you  know  what    you    ought    to   have 


Angela's  Secret  267 

done?"  she  said.  "You  ought  to  have  married  a 
millionairess. 

"A  what?"  he  said. 

"  A  millionairess,"  she  repeated.  "  You  would  have 
been  quite  a  prize," 

' '  A  prize !  I  don't  see  that  I  would  have  been  much 
of  a  prize." 

' '  You  're  a  Highland  chief !  There  would  have  been 
a  regular  scramble  for  you  if  you  had  only  given 
people  the  chance  of  seeing  you." 

"Seeing  me!     But  I  'm  not  good-looking." 

Angela  laughed. 

"Oh,  you  dear  goose!  looks  would  n't  matter.  You 
would  have  been  'Glenmoira.'  Yes,  Jock,  seriously, 
you  ought  to  have  married  a  mihionairess.  Did  you 
never  think  of  doing  it?" 

"I  wish  you  would  n't  say  things  like  that,"  he  said 
in  rather  a  hurt  voice.  "You  know  quite  well  that  I 
would  never  have  married  a  woman  for  the  sake  of 
her  money.  Where  would  I  have  been?  What  would 
I  have  been  to  her?     Nothing " 

"And  what  are  you  to  me?"  she  asked;  and  then 
answered  the  question  for  him.     "Everything!" 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  SECRET  IMPARTED 

"1  'M  really  beginning  to  know  a  great  deal  about 

1  farming,  Jock,"  remarked  Angela  one  morning. 
It  was  a  week  or  two  after  the  duck-shooting  episode. 
"What  a  busy  month  March  has  been,"  she  continued. 
"  Have  you  got  all  your  sowing  done  yet?  When  shall 
I  begin  to  see  the  com  sprouting?" 

"I  'm  afraid  my  being  busy  has  made  it  very  dull 
for  you,"  said  Jock.  "But  I  '11  have  more  time  now, 
and  the  days  are  always  getting  longer.  We  '11  have 
out  Flora,  and  make  some  of  our  old  expeditions  again 
soon." 

"  Oh !  but  you  must  n't  waste  time  over  me.  I  don't 
want  to  go — I  mean,  I  am  quite  happy.  I  'm  always 
so  busy."  She  finished  her  sentence  rather  hurriedly. 
Jock's  surprised  face  checked  her  stream  of  excuses. 

"I  thought  you  liked  expeditions,"  he  said.  "You 
used  to.  And  it  would  n't  be  wasting  my  time.  I 
have  several  places  that  I  must  go  to — where  you  could 
ride  Flora,  and  I  '11  walk.     I  shoiild  like  to  take  you." 

A  few  days  later  he  announced  that  he  was  going 
over  to  Glenmoira  the  next  morning. 

"You  '11  come  too,  won't  you?"  he  said  persuasively. 
He  would  like  to  have  told  her  that  he  thought  she 
ought  to  go  out  more,  but  he  did  not. 

268 


The  Secret  Imparted  269 

"We  '11  see  what  kind  of  a  day  it  is,"  she  answered 
evasively. 

"I  'd  like  you  to  come.  There  are  several  things  I 
want  to  have  your  advice  about,"  he  persisted  gently. 
"And  there  's  the  garden.  The  spring  flowers  will  be 
beginning  to  come  up.  It  ought  to  be  quite  pretty. 
Shall  I  tell  Hamish  to  have  Flora  ready  in  the  morn- 
ing?    It  will  give  us  a  nice  long  day  if  we  start  early." 

"Very  well,  dear,"  she  answered  meekly.  She 
could  not  bear  to  disappoint  him.  "It  will  be  easier 
to  make  an  excuse  to-morrow  than  to  refuse  now,"  was 
her  thought. 

But  the  next  day  was  very  wet,  and  Jock  went  to 
Glenmoira  by  himself.  When  he  returned,  he  brought 
back  with  him  a  large  basket  of  hothouse  flowers 
which  the  gardener  had  cut  for  Angela. 

"I  don't  believe  he  had  any  business  to  give  them 
away.  They  belong  to  the  Potters,"  said  Jock.  "And 
how  did  the  old  boy  know  you?     He  said  he  did." 

Angela  laughed. 

"I  made  friends  with  him  ages  ago.  It  was  the  day 
I  sprained  my  ankle.  I  had  been  talking  to  him  for  a 
long  time  in  the  garden  that  afternoon  before  I  started 
for  my  walk."  She  buried  her  face  amongst  the 
flowers.  "How  sweet  they  are!  Stolen! — that  is 
why.  You  see,  the  reiving  spirit  comes  out  in  every 
Highlander.     He  seemed  to  me  a  very  nice  gardener." 

But  Jock  did  not  respond.  She  glanced  at  him ;  his 
face  always  betrayed  him. 

"Have  you  not  had  a  satisfactory  day?"  she  asked. 

"  I  had  been  looking  forward  to  taking  you  with  me, 
and — oh!  I  always  hate  going  over,"  he  said  in  a 
dispirited  voice.     "The  place  and  the  people  and — 


270  Bawbee  Jock 

everything  seems  to  reproach  me.  That  old  chap  who 
sent  you  these" — and  he  touched  the  flowers — "he 
was  so  pleased  to  get  the  chance  of  sending  them  to 
you.  He  grinds  away  at  his  work,  and  there 's  no  one 
to  care — no  one  to  appreciate  the  result  of  what  he 
does.  It 's  the  same  with  them  all.  They  've  no 
heart  in  their  work." 

Angela  winced  at  his  words.  She  began  to  arrange 
her  flowers,  and  moved  about  the  room  placing  and 
replacing  the  vases.  When  tea  came  in,  she  hovered 
round  Jock  with  more  than  her  usual  tenderness.  She 
was  uneasy ;  she  began  conversations  without  finishing 
them.  At  one  moment  she  was  obviously  on  the  verge 
of  unburdening  her  mind  of  something  which  was 
weighing  on  it,  but  the  post-bag  was  brought  in  earlier 
than  usual,  and  caused  an  interruption, 

Angela's  share  of  the  letters  was  always  the  larger, 
and  after  Jock  had  given  her  hers,  he  went  over  to  his 
writing-table  with  his  own.  He  moved  as  though  he 
were  tired.  She  always  knew,  when  he  sat  like  that, 
with  his  back  turned  to  her,  that  he  had  received  a 
letter  from  Alister. 

"It  is  because  he  is  afraid  of  what  is  in  it,  and  he 
wants  to  know  the  best  or  the  worst  before  I  see  his 
face,"  she  said  to  herself. 

She  read  her  own  letters  and  did  not  disturb  Jock. 
He  sat  for  a  long  time  very  still  after  he  had  read  one 
particular  letter,  and  then  he  read  it  again,  and  put  it 
into  his  pocket,  and  rising,  without  saying  anything  to 
her,  left  the  room.  She  heard  him  go  out  at  the  front 
door.  It  was  still  raining,  and  she  knew  that  there 
was  nothing  urgent  to  take  him  out  at  that  hour,  and 
he  did  not  return  until  nearly  dinner-time. 


The  Secret  Imparted  271 

At  dinner  he  was  unusually  silent,  and  during  the 
remainder  of  the  evening  he  avoided  talking  upon  any 
but  the  most  ordinary  topics. 

Angela  busied  herself  with  her  work,  but  she  watched 
him,  and  hot  resentment  smouldered  in  her  breast. 
He  was  keeping  something  from  her,  and  the  some- 
thing had  to  do  with  Alister. 

Resentment  burnt  still  hotter  the  next  morn- 
ing when  she  saw  that  the  shadow  of  the  unshared 
trouble  still  hung  over  him;  and  when  he  kissed 
her,  as  he  always  did,  before  he  went  out  to  his  morn- 
ing's work,  he  looked  at  her  with  a  dumb  appeal 
for  sjrmpathy  in  his  eyes  which  made  her  heart 
ache. 

"Why  won't  he  tell  me  what  it  is?"  she  asked  her- 
self helplessly,  as  she  watched  him  pass  through  the 
gate  and  disappear  round  the  bend  of  the  road. 
"Ought  I  to  have  tried  to  make  him  speak?  Does 
he  think  I  don't  know  that  he  is  unhappy?"  She 
clenched  her  little  hands  and  beat  one  against  the 
other.  ' '  I  will  make  him  tell  me.  It  has  all  to  do  with 
Alister.  He  is  a  regular  vampire — sucking  the  very 
heart's  blood  out  of  my  darling ;  and  Jock  is  so  loyal. 
He  is  trying  to  shield  him,  even  from  me."  Her  brow 
contracted,  and  her  mouth  set  in  a  hard  line  which 
made  it  look  quite  unlike  itself.  "And  if  Alister  were 
given  money,  it  would  be  no  use.  Jock  said  that 
himself.  If  he  had  Glenmoira  to-day,  he  would  sell 
it  to-morrow,  and  the  money  would  run  through  his 
fingers  like  water !  That  is  what  Jock  said."  The  fur- 
row on  her  brow  deepened.  "It  would  be  wrongs  to 
give  him  money.  It  would  be  wrong — I  know  it 
would  be  wrong." 


272  Bawbee  Jock 

She  kept  repeating  the  words  as  if  to  assure  herself 
of  their  significance. 

With  an  impatient  sigh  she  threw  open  the  window 
wide.  The  air  was  already  full  of  the  scent  of  break- 
ing spring ;  the  smell  of  newly  dug  earth  rose  from  the 
herbaceous  border  where  Hamish  was  turning  up  the 
soil  with  a  pronged  fork.  Two  cock-sparrows  were 
fighting  over  a  feather  on  the  garden  path,  and  a 
cheeping  chorus  of  wives  were  hovering  round  waiting 
to  pounce  on  the  prize  if  by  any  chance  the  combatants 
were  to  let  it  drop.  A  robin,  which  she  had  tamed 
during  the  winter,  hopped  out  from  underneath  the 
box-hedge,  where  it  had  been  rustling  among  some 
driven  leaves,  and  lighted  on  the  window-ledge.  It 
perked  its  head  from  side  to  side  with  impertinent 
freedom,  and,  making  a  sudden  sweep  on  to  the  top  of 
her  work-basket,  picked  up  a  tag  of  wool  and  flew  out 
of  the  window  with  it  in  its  beak,  the  wool  traiHng 
behind  in  the  wind  like  a  pair  of  long  Dundreary 
whiskers. 

"Without  even  so  much  as  a  cheep  of  'thank-you!* 
— and  I  thought  you  loved  me! "  said  Angela  reproach- 
fully. She  looked  at  the  sparrows,  still  fighting 
over  the  feather.  "You  are  all  so  busy  getting  ready 
your  nests.  Stuck-up  little  things! — so  full  of  your 
own  importance.  I  can  almost  hear  you  saying 
'Why  are  you  not  busy  too?  You  are  disgracefully 
lazy!'" 

She  drew  a  chair  up  to  the  window,  and,  sitting 
in  the  sweet  April  simshine,  she  turned  out  all  the 
contents  of  her  work-basket,  and  then  put  the  things 
neatly  back  again. 

"The  birds  have  taught  me  a  lesson,"  she  said;  and 


The  Secret  Imparted  273 

her  eyes  were  smiling  now,  and  the  hard  lines  about 
her  mouth  had  vanished. 

Lunch-time  came,  and  Jock  returned.  He  made  a 
valiant  effort  during  the  meal  to  appear  in  his  usual 
spirits — an  effort  which  did  not  deceive  Angela.  She 
took  no  notice,  and  talked  about  garden-seeds,  and 
how  that  Hamish  was  very  positive,  and  would  only 
sow  certain  things  in  certain  parts  of  the  garden 
because  they  had  been  grown  there  from  time 
immemorial. 

After  he  had  finished  lunch,  Jock  tinned  his  chair 
half  roimd,  facing  the  open  door.  It  was  a  mild  day, 
even  for  April,  and  both  door  and  window  stood  open. 

Angela  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then  left  her 
seat. 

"Your  chair  is  bigger  than  mine,"  she  said.  "It 
can  hold  two  nicely,  if  you  squash  up  a  little." 

He  made  room  for  her,  and  she  sat  down. 

"How  pretty  the  view  is,  looking  through  the  open 
door ! ' '  she  remarked.  '  *  It  frames  it  just  like  a  picture, 
does  n't  it?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered. 

His  eyes  rested  on  the  hills  he  loved  so  well,  and 
Angela,  looking  up,  saw  their  expression,  and  saw  the 
muscles  about  his  mouth  twitch. 

"Jock,  what  is  the  matter?"  she  said.  "It  is  no 
use  pretending.  You  had  bad  news  last  night  about 
Alister.  Tell  me,  dear.  It  can't  be  too  bad  for  me 
to  know.  You  are  here — with  me — my  very  own.  I 
can  surely  bear  to  hear  anything  if  I  have  you.  And 
— I  want  to  help  you." 

"You  cannot  help  me,"  he  said  brokenly. 

" Tell  me,"  she  pleaded.     "Perhaps  I  can." 
18 


274  Bawbee  Jock 

He  raised  his  head,  and  made  as  though  he  would 
put  her  from  him,  and  then  caught  her  back. 

"I  ought  never  to  have  married  you;  I  ought  not  to 
have  sacrificed  you.  That  is  what  I  have  been  re- 
proaching myself  with — ever  since  I  got  his  letter 
last  night.  I  ought  to  have  gone  on  fighting  alone;  I 
should  never  have  brought  you  into  the  trouble." 

"  Is  it  so  very  hopeless  ? ' '  she  said  gently.  '  *  Tell  me. ' ' 

"It 's  the  worst.  I  felt  somehow  that  it  was  com- 
ing. He  's  been  so  quiet  lately.  I  was  afraid  he  'd 
got  into  some  awful  mess  that  he  could  n't  get  out  of. 
He  's  given  himself  away,  and  he  's  given  me  away." 
Jock  spoke  in  a  dvdl,  heavy  tone,  as  if  he  had  gone  over 
the  subject  so  often  that  it  had  become  beaten  into  his 
brain  like  a  drearily  learnt  lesson. 

"You  mean,"  said  Angela,  "that  he  wants  to  make 
you  keep  yoiu*  promise — to  sell  Glenmoira?" 

"Yes,"  said  Jock.  "I  promised  my  mother,  you 
know.     He  says  I  can't  break  my  word." 

Angela  drew  herself  up.  She  held  her  head  proudly 
and  her  cheeks  were  very  flushed. 

"You  will  not  require  to  break  your  word,"  she  said. 
Her  breath  came  and  went  quickly  through  her  parted 
lips.  Her  glance  wandered,  as  though  seeking  for 
help,  and  it  fell  on  the  shining  sickle  hanging  on  the 
wall.  She  put  her  hands  on  Jock's  shoulders,  and 
looked  into  his  eyes;  and  he  saw  that  she  had  suddenly 
gone  very  white.  "Do  you  remember,"  she  said, 
"last  harvest- time,  when  I  cut  the  little  sheaf  and  gave 
it  to  you?  Next  harvest-time  I — I  will  give  you  some- 
thing else." 

He  stared  at  her,  the  dawn  of  knowledge  only  half- 
awakened. 


The  Secret  Imparted  275 

" Don't  you  understand?"  There  was  a  tremulous 
break  in  the  sweet  voice.  "If  God  is  good,  you  will 
have  a  son  of  your  own;  and  until  you  know  you  can't 
be  made  to  do  anything.  It 's  not  breaking  your 
word. ' '  She  gave  a  little  sob  of  joy  and  pride.  * '  Your 
own  son  would  come  first — you  said  so.  I  pray  with 
all  my  heart  that  God  will  let  me  give  you  a — son." 

She  felt  his  arms  clasp  her  and  tighten  convulsively. 
She  could  feel  his  heart  beating  with  heavy,  irregular 
throbs,  but  he  did  not  speak.  He  held  her,  as  if  in 
fear,  with  a  passion  of  strength,  as  though  fighting  an 
unseen  something  which  might  tear  her  from  him.  He 
did  not  caress  her;  his  lips  did  not  touch  her;  every 
pulse  and  nerve,  every  muscle  and  fibre  which  made 
up  the  strong  virility  of  the  man  within  him,  was 
claiming  her  for  his  own.  Dominating  him,  mastering 
him,  was  the  primitive  instinct  that  he  would  keep 
her,  hold  her  as  his,  against  every  power,  human  and 
divine. 

And  she  understood  him.  The  woman  within  her 
told  her  what  he  felt.  Her  love  was  as  a  finger  laid  on 
the  pulse  of  his  heart. 

She  stirred  a  little. 

"Dear!"  she  whispered.  She  touched  him,  and  he 
shivered.  She  moved  her  head  so  that  she  could  see 
his  face,  and  she  put  her  arms  round  his  neck  and 
kissed  him.  "Say  something  to  me,"  she  murmured. 
"  I  want  to  hear  you  speak;  I  want  to  hear  you  tell  me 
that  you  are  glad.     Speak  to  me,  dearest." 

The  clasp  of  his  arms  relaxed.  He  took  her  face 
between  his  hands  and  looked  deep  into  her  eyes. 

"It  makes  you  very  happy?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  very  happy,"  she  answered,     "  I  thought  that 


276  Bawbee  Jock 

I  could  not  possibly  be  any  happier — that  we  were 
everything  to  each  other;  but  this " 

She  hesitated  shyly,  and  then  she  began  to  talk  to 
him  about  this,  her  sweet,  new  hope.  She  had  been 
longing  to  share  every  thought  with  him,  and  now  her 
cup  of  happiness  was  full  to  the  brim. 

But  gradually  a  faint  chill  began  to  creep  over  her. 
Her  intuitions  were  so  qmck,  her  power  to  read  him 
so  imerring,  that  she  knew  there  was  something — a 
little  cloud,  a  little  doubt. 

"You  have  not  told  me  yet  that  you  are  glad,"  she 
said.  "It  will  be  such  a  helpless  little  thing  at  first. 
It  will  want  so  much  love." 

There  was  a  passion  of  entreaty  in  his  eyes  as  he 
searched  her  face  with  yearning  eagerness. 

Then  she  knew! 

"But  I  will  love  you  just  the  same,"  she  cried.  "I 
will  love  you  more.  You  are  not  jealous,  Jock?  Oh, 
say  that  you  are  not!  You  will  always  be  first — 
always " 

He  turned  his  head  aside. 

"I  know  that  I  am  a  brute  to  be  jealous.  It  will 
be  such  a  helpless  little  thing;  it  will  need  you;  it  will 
want  you  at  every  timi,  and  you  can't  help  giving 
your  best — you  've  got  the  mother-instinct  in  you  so 
strong.  It  was  that  made  you  draw  me  to  you.  You 
mothered  me — you  understood  me.  I  did  not  know 
what  it  meant  then;  but  I  know — now." 

She  touched  his  cheek  with  her  lips,  mutely 
protesting. 

"You  have  spoilt  me,"  he  almost  sobbed — "spoilt 
me.  I  have  had  all  your  love ;  I  never  dreamt  of  what 
love  could  make  of  life  until  you  gave  yourself  to  me." 


The  Secret  Imparted  277 

He  laid  his  head  against  her  bosom.  "This  has  been 
my  place,  and  your  dear  arms  have  been  mine — only 
mine.  Everjrthing'l  has  been  mine.  And  now — " 
He  half  smothered  her  with  his  kisses. 

Her  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  but  she  smiled  through 
them. 

"  Oh  those  stormy  caresses,  Jock.  They  always  tell 
me  how  you  have  been  starved  for  love,  dear.  But 
think!  You  were  starved  for  want  of  mother-love 
yourself.  Oh  yes,  you  were!  And  now — now  that 
you  know — you  would  not  deny  to  your  own  what 
you  hungered  for  yourself?" 

Through  the  open  door  came  the  song  of  the  birds 
and  the  hum  from  the  beehives  sheltering  under  the 
garden  wall.  The  bleat  of  a  lamb  sounded  from  the 
green  hillside;  in  the  April  sky  above,  white  fleecy 
clouds  were  racing  across  the  blue,  and  fitful  skiffs  of 
wind  stirred  into  ruffling  wavelets  the  bosom  of  the  loch. 

Spring  was  everywhere.  Life  was  astir  in  bird  and 
beast  and  flower;  an  abounding  hope  stirred  all  Natvure 
to  rejoicing. 

Instinctively  she  knew  what  would  serve  her  pur- 
pose. Nature,  which  he  loved  so  well,  would  teach 
him  best,  was  her  inward  thought,  and  she  said  aloud: 

"I — I  think  I  am  a  little  tired,  dear." 

The  colour  rushed  up  to  his  brow.  In  a  moment 
he  was  alertly  conscious,  not  of  himself,  but  of  her. 

"What  am  I  to  do  with  you?"  he  asked. 

She  smiled. 

"Nothing!    Leave  me  to  rest  for  a  while." 

"Leave  you  alone?"  he  questioned. 

"Yes.  I  think  I  would  like  to  be  left  alone — only 
for  a  little  while." 


278  Bawbee  Jock 

"But — oughtn't  I  to  be  taking  care  of  you?" 
There  was  anxious  perplexity  in  his  voice. 

A  trill  of  laughter  bubbled  up  spontaneously  to 
her  lips.    Her  heart  was  light  now. 

"Do  you  think  that  I  ought  to  be  kept  in  a  glass 
box,  and  only  looked  at  through  the  lid?"  she  asked. 
"Dearest,  I  'm  splendidly  well.  I  only  want  to  have 
time  to  think  over  all  that  we  have  been  talking  about. 
You  must  go  out  now  and  get  all  the  worries  blown 
away.  Suppose  you  take  the  boat  and  go  up  the  loch 
and  look  and  see  what  the  little  water-hen  is  doing. 
Then  you  can  row  me  up  some  day ;  I  want  to  see  her 
tumbling  her  chicks  into  the  water." 

So  she  sent  him  from  her. 

"I  am  sure  that  is  the  best  thing  to  do,"  she  told 
herself,  as  she  watched  him  row  past. 

Jock  had  drawn  the  sofa  up  to  the  window  for  her 
before  he  left,  and  arranged  her  cushions  comfortably ; 
and  because  she  saw  that  it  pleased  him  to  be  allowed 
to  wait  upon  her,  she  had  invented  a  great  many 
small  wants  which  were  quite  unnecessary. 

She  closed  her  eyes  with  a  sigh. 

"I  am  very  tired,"  she  miu-mured.  "But — they 
can't  make  him  sell  Glenmoira  now.  And — I  won't 
fuss  about  other  things.  I  want  to  do  what 's  right — 
what  would  really  help  him.  I  wish  I  could  talk  to 
Flossie.     But — I  'm  too  tired  just  now  to  think." 

Gradually  a  drowsiness  began  to  steal  over  her. 
The  soft  air  from  the  open  window  fanned  her  cheek ; 
the  peaceful  sounds  lulled  her  senses  to  a  dreamy 
content.  When  Jock  retiuned,  it  was  to  find  her 
sleeping  quietly. 

He  stood  for  some  time  looking  down  at  her.     His 


The  Secret  Imparted  279 

step  had  made  no  sound,  and  she  slept  on  undisturbed. 

How  young  she  looked!  Childlike,  with  the  inno- 
cence of  sleep  on  her  eyelids.  The  dark  lashes  threw 
their  shadow  on  the  softly  rounded  cheek;  a  smile 
from  the  sweetness  of  her  dreams  lingered  about  her 
Hps.  His  darling!  His  wife!  And  now  to  be  some- 
thing more.  The  shadowy  wings  of  the  dawn  of 
motherhood  hovered  near  and  about  her,  giving  her 
into  his  trust  with  a  sweeter,  holier  meaning. 

He  upbraided  himself  with  a  bitter  pang  of  self- 
reproach.  He  had  not  been  kind  to  her;  he  had  not 
been  generous.  His  miserable  jealousy  had  hurt  her. 
This  vaunted  love  of  his — it  was  a  petty,  small  thing 
in  comparison  to  hers.  She  had  been  so  proudly  glad 
to  tell  him  that  it  was  in  her  power  to  help  him;  and 
he  had  repulsed  her — cried  out  like  a  spoilt  child  who 
will  not  share  its  joys  with  another. 

Was  she  only  asleep?  She  lay  so  still.  He  bent 
down  closer  to  make  sure  that  she  breathed,  and  she 
opened  her  eyes  on  him.  He  could  see  the  visions  of 
her  happy  dreams  still  lingering  in  their  depths. 

He  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  sofa,  and  laid  beside 
her  a  bunch  of  green,  the  first  spikes  of  budding  spring 
which  he  had  found  thrusting  their  shoots  through  the 
sheltered  slopes  on  the  loch-side. 

One  glance  at  his  face  told  her  that  she  had  been 
right  to  send  him  from  her. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  that  I  made  you  think  that  I  was  not 
glad,"  he  said  humbly.  "I  am  glad.  I  am  not 
jealous  any  more,  and  I  will  never  behave  to  you  like 
that  again.  Will  you  forgive  me  for  being  so  selfish  as 
to  think  of  myself  instead  of  you?" 

The  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes  so  thick  that  she  saw 


28o  Bawbee  Jock 

him  but  as  a  misty  shadow,  and  she  could  not  speak. 
Her  outstretched  hands  spoke  for  her.  He  took  them, 
and  held  them. 

"You  will  let  me  help  you  all  I  can,"  he  said. 

"Yes — I  will  let  you  help  me.  It  helps  me  to  feel 
yotu*  strength.     When  you  hold  me  so — I  am  strong." 

And  from  that  hour  his  love  for  her  strengthened. 
The  passion  and  ardour  of  the  lover  deepened  to  a 
tenderer,  more  protective  love — a  love  which  the  great 
mother,  Nature,  whose  nursling  he  was,  teaches  to 
those  of  her  children  who  have  heart  and  understand- 
ing to  learn  the  sweet  lessons  of  her  bountiful  pity  and 
care:  care  for  the  weary  and  faltering  feet  whose  steps 
are  ever  leading  them  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  mystery 
of  an  unborn  futurity. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

LADY  DI  TAKES  POSSESSION 

A  FEW  evenings  later  it  happened    that  Angela 
opened  the  post-bag  instead  of  Jock. 

"Nothing  for  me!  and" — she  gave  a  surprised  ex- 
clamation— "a  letter  for  you  from  Flossie.  What 
can  he  be  writing  to  you  about?  I  have  not  heard 
from  him  for  ages."  She  looked  at  the  letter  rather 
nervously,  as  she  handed  it  to  Jock. 

"Your  Flossie  writing  to  me:  that 's  rather  odd." 
Jock  glanced  at  the  stamp.  "He's  in  America.  I 
wonder — "  Then  he  stopped.  He  broke  the  seal 
and  read  the  letter.  He  looked  up  and  met  Angela's 
eyes.  "It's  about  Alister,"  he  said.  "He's  met 
him." 

Angela  gave  a  sigh;  it  sounded  almost  like  a  sigh  of 
relief. 

"  Well? "  was  all  she  said.  She  could  not  quite  read 
the  expression  on  Jock's  face ;  it  puzzled  her. 

"Your  Flossie  can  speak  the  truth  very  plainly,'* 
he  said  slowly. 

Angela  nodded. 

"I  know  he  can.  Has  he  said  things  to  hurt  you? 
He  would  not  do  it  intentionally.  Flossie's  dreadfully 
tender-hearted  really." 

281 


282  Bawbee  Jock 

"He  more  or  less  tells  me  that  I  am  being  made  a 
fool  of,"  said  Jock. 

"How?  Where  has  he  met  Alister?  What  has  he 
found  out?" 

"He  met  Alister  at  some  races.  Alister  was  riding 
the  man's  horse  that  Flossie  was  staying  with,  and — 
there  was  a  row  about  it — and — "  Jock  broke  off, 
and  a  disgusted  expression  crossed  his  face.  "It 's  so 
sickening  always  hearing  the  same  kind  of  thing " 

"Jock  dear,  don't  tell  me  that  Flossie  has  only 
written  to  tell  you  some  disgraceful  story,"  said 
Angela  quickly.  "He  would  never  do  that;  and  he  is 
so  sensible  he  would  never  make  trouble.  He  wants 
to  help  you." 

"Yes,  I  think  he  wants  to  help  me;  but — "  Jock 
picked  up  Flossie's  letter.  "He  tells  first  how  he  met 
Alister.     You  know  that." 

"Yes.     Well?"  said  Angela. 

"He  goes  on  to  say  that  he  hopes  I  '11  understand 
his  motive  in  writing.  That  he  thinks  I  ought  to 
know  the  kind  of  life  Alister  is  leading — for  my  own 
sake.  That  he  has  got  into  the  hands  of  a  crew  of 
swindlers  who  think  he  has  the  control  of  money 
through  me.  That  he  has  led  them  to  believe  that  he 
has  prospects,  and  that  they  '11  stick  to  him  like  leeches 
so  long  as  they  think  they  can  get  anything  out  of  him, 
and  that  they  '11  keep  him  going.  He  's  worth  keep- 
ing, you  see.  That 's  the  crux  of  the  whole  thing. 
He  must  n't  get  money.  Instead  of  helping  him, 
I  'm  doing  him  harm.  So  your  Flossie  puts  it.  If  I 
want  to  make  anything  of  him,  I  must  starve  him  out. 
These  scoundrels  will  drop  him  soon  enough  if  they 
find  he  's  no  use  to  them." 


Lady  Di  Takes  Possession        283 

"  It  woiild  make  him  work,  if  he  knew  he  was  n't 
going  to  be  helped,"  said  Angela,  as  Jock  paused. 

"Work — yes!  But  that's  just  it,"  said  Jock 
despairingly.  "He  doesn't  understand  the  meaning 
of  the  word  '  work.' "  He  sat  staring  at  the  pattern  of 
the  carpet  in  front  of  him. 

"You  are  not  offended  with  Flossie,  are  you?"  said 
Angela  anxiously. 

"No,  I  'm  not  offended,"  answered  Jock.  He  hesi- 
tated. "  It  has  been  on  my  mind  that  I  ought  to  have 
gone  out  and  seen  for  myself  what  Alister  was  doing. " 

"  But  you  won't  go  now? — now  that  you  are  married 
and  now  that —  Oh,  Jock,  you  could  n't  go  and  leave 
me!  You  don't  mean  that,  surely?"  Her  eyes  were 
wide  and  startled — a  frightened  appeal  in  them. 

"No,  no,  dear,"  he  answered,  quick  to  take  alarm. 
"I  won't  leave  you,  I  promise!  But  I  have  not 
answered  that  last  letter  of  Alister's  yet,  and — I 
don't  know  what  to  do." 

"Has  not  Flossie  helped  you?"  she  said.  "You 
know  now  what  is  the  real  truth.  Won't  you  take 
his  advice?" 

"For  the  life  of  me  I  don't  know.  I  don't  know 
whether  I  should  or  not,"  answered  Jock. 

Angela  bent  forward  and  spoke  eagerly. 

"  Dearest,  don't  think  me  horrid  and  unsympathetic. 
It  is  hard  for  you,  after  all  that  you  have  done,  to  find 
that  it  has  been  no  use;  but  do  try  Flossie's  advice. 
It  can't  do  any  harm  to  try  it,  can  it?  I  so  hate  to  see 
you  worried,  and  it  worries  me;  and  you  don't  want 
that,  do  you?  Would  n't  it  be  better  to  get  the  matter 
off  your  mind — now — to-night?  Take  Flossie's  ad- 
vice, and  write  to  Alister.     You  need  not  say  who  has 


284  Bawbee  Jock 

told  you,  but  you  can  let  him  understand  that  you 
know  all  about  everything.  And  that — well,  that  now 
you  can't  be  responsible  for  him ;  that  you  have  other 
responsibilities.  Dearest !  You  don't  belong  to  your- 
self now.     You  belong  to  me,  and — to " 

"Yes,"  answered  Jock  hesitatingly,  "  I  know.  But, 
am  I  right  to  throw  him  over  altogether?" 

"Doesn't  Flossie  say  that  that  is  the  crux  of  the 
whole  matter?"  answered  Angela.  "That  you  are 
doing  more  harm  than  good  by  helping  him?  That 
Alister  must  be  made  to  work — to  depend  on  himself? 
That  it  is  the  only  way  to  make  anything  of  him?" 

They  talked  for  long,  Angela  pleading  for  a  trial  of 
Flossie's  advice,  Jock  doubtful  and  hesitating.  But  it 
ended  in  Jock  writing  the  letter  in  the  way  Angela 
wished  it  to  be  written. 

"I  've  done  it,"  he  said,  coming  over  to  where  she 
was  sitting.  He  stood,  looking  down  at  her  with 
troubled  eyes.  "But  I  'm  not  sure  that  I  've  done 
right.     He  's  not  the  sort  to  cast  adrift." 

"You're  doing  it  for  the  best,"  she  answered. 
"And  then,  Jock,  think  of  Glenmoira." 

He  sat  down  beside  her,  and,  taking  her  hand  in  his, 
looked  at  her  steadily. 

"  It  does  n't  mean  that  we  shall  be  able  to  go  back 
to  Glenmoira,  dear.  Do  you  understand?  I  'm  so 
crippled,  the  place  is  so  burdened,  that  I  don't  believe 
we  '11  ever  be  able  to  do  that." 

"Something — might  happen,"  she  said. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  It  would  take  a  lifetime  to  clear  the  place — to  bring 
it  back  to  what  it  was." 

"But "  she  checked  herself  and  sat  silent. 


Lady  Di  Takes  Possession       285 

"Did  Flossie  not  send  any  message  to  me?"  she 
asked  after  a  pause. 

"Yes — I  forgot;  there  was  a  message.  He  sent  his 
love  and  said  you  need  not  write  to  him  because  he  did 
not  know  where  his  wanderings  might  take  him.  He 
said  that  he  would  perhaps  pay  you  a  surprise  visit 
some  day." 

"  I  suppose  that  means  that  he  will  be  coming  up  to 
stay  with  the  Potters  in  the  autumn, "  said  Angela. 

"I  suppose  so,"  answered  Jock. 

And  April  merged  its  budding  strength  into  May, 
and  the  May-blossoms  broke  and  flung  their  sweetness 
broadcast;  and  the  fresh  tints  of  early  June  began  to 
paint  the  landscape  with  a  fairy-Uke  beauty  of  grace 
and  colour.  The  tender  green  of  the  silver  birch  and 
the  bronze  of  the  young  oak-shoots  mingled  their 
foliage  in  soft  harmony;  and  along  the  sheltered  banks 
of  the  loch-side  the  ferns  unciurled  their  crumpled  balls 
of  frond  to  the  sun. 

Those  June  days  were  happy  days  for  Angela,  and 
she  spent  most  of  them  on  the  loch.  She  loved  to 
watch  the  varying  effects  of  light  and  colour,  and  the 
restful  motion  of  the  boat  and  the  rhythmical  dip  of 
the  oars  soothed  her  indescribably.  As  its  prow  gently 
cut  the  water,  the  soft  Highland  air  fanned  her  cheek, 
and  the  song  of  the  birds  made  music  from  the  banks ; 
and  Jock  was  always  ready  to  take  her  wherever  her 
fancy  suggested. 

If  anything  called  him  away  and  he  had  to  leave  her 
for  an  hotu*  or  so,  he  would  often  moor  the  boat  to  an 
overhanging  branch  in  some  sheltered  nook  and  leave 
Dileas  behind  on  guard. 

"What  would  he  do  if  anything  happened.'*"  Angela 


286  Bawbee  Jock 

asked  one  day.  "  If  the  boat  were  to  drift,  would  he 
swim  after  me?" 

"  He  'd  give  tongue,"  Jock  had  answered,  patting  the 
dog's  head.  "He  knows  quite  well  that  when  he  's 
left  with  you,  he  has  to  look  after  you.  I  can  trust 
him." 

Dileas  raised  his  eyes  at  the  approving  tone  of  the 
loved  voice. 

"  Yes,  I  know  that  I  am  here  on  trust,  and  I  shall  be 
faithful  to  my  name,"  he  answered  dumbly. 

Angela  had  not  the  actiial  satisfaction  of  seeing  the 
water-hen  tumbling  her  chicks  into  the  water;  but  one 
day  she  saw  her  swimming  proudly  out  from  the  bank 
with  four  little  balls  of  brown  fluff  paddling  round  her. 

"How  I  should  love  to  catch  them  and  cuddle  them !" 
she  cried,  eagerly  stretching  out  her  hands  over  the 
side  of  the  boat.  "Do  let  me  try!  Row  in  nearer, 
Jock!" 

"You  would  be  clever  if  you  managed  to  catch 
them,"  answered  Jock.  "She'd  never  let  you. 
There!  she's  off." 

And  with  a  sharp  quack,  and  a  Jerk  of  her  tail,  which 
showed  the  glint  of  the  white  feathers  underneath  the 
brown,  the  little  mother  hurried  her  darlings  out  of 
reach  of  the  eager  hands  and  hid  them  in  the  cover 
of  the  sheltering  reeds. 

One  afternoon,  when  June  was  in  its  prime,  they  had 
returned  from  an  expedition  on  the  loch.  It  was 
close  upon  five  o'clock.  Jock  had  stopped  behind  at 
the  landing-stage  to  put  up  the  boat,  and  Angela  had 
walked  on  in  advance. 

She  turned  the  bend  of  the  road  from  the  boat-house, 
and  saw  to  her  stirprise  that  a  pony-cart,  with  the  pony 


Lady  Di  Takes  Possession       287 

tied  to  the  fence  opposite,  was  standing  by  the  white 
gate  leading  up  to  the  house.  It  was  a  shabby-looking 
concern.  The  cart  looked  as  though  it  had  not 
been  cleaned  for  weeks;  and  the  pony  was  an  un- 
groomed  little  creature,  evidently  taken  rough  from 
the  hillside. 

She  stopped  and  stared  at  it.  Who  could  the  visitor 
be?  Some  one  who  was  either  in  the  house  or  on  the 
premises.  She  glanced  round  apprehensively,  and 
then  a  sudden  hope  flashed  into  her  mind.  Flossie! 
It  could  be  no  one  but  Flossie.  He  had  said  he  would 
pay  her  a  surprise  visit,  and  nothing  had  been  heard 
of  him  since  he  had  written  to  Jock  about  Alister. 
Of  course  it  was  Flossie.  She  pushed  open  the 
gate  and  hurried  up  the  pathway,  breathless  with 
anticipation. 

Then  her  step  slackened.  The  front  door  stood 
wide  open,  and  she  heard  the  tinkle  of  teacups.  He 
had  probably  been  waiting  for  hours,  and  Sheila  had, 
of  course,  given  him  tea. 

A  smothered  laugh  bubbled  up  to  her  lips.  She 
could  not  resist  the  temptation  of  taking  him  unawares, 
and  noiselessly  she  crept  close  to  the  door  and  peeped 
into  the  hall.  The  blinds  had  been  lowered  for  the 
sun,  and  she  could  not  see  very  distinctly.  Some  one 
was  sitting  in  Jock's  chair,  which  had  its  high  back 
turned  towards  her;  but  she  could  see  the  table,  and 
she  caught  sight  of  an  egg-cup,  and  there  was  a  large 
plate  of  what  looked  like  salad  with  a  row  of  little  red 
radishes  arranged  round  the  edge. 

The  figure  in  the  chair  was  invisible,  all  except  the 
top  of  a  hat.  It  was  a  man's  hat — a  shabby  green 
Tyrolean,  very  much  squashed  down  about  the  brim. 


288  Bawbee  Jock 

"I  shall  take  care  to  tell  him  that  living  in  the  wilds 
has  not  improved  his  manners,"  she  murmured. 
"Sitting  down  to  tea  with  his  hat  on!    Such  a  hat!" 

The  figure  stretched  out  a  hand  and  picked  out  a 
radish  from  the  dish.  The  hand  was  not  Flossie's, 
and  Angela  almost  screamed  as  the  figure  turned 
sideways  and  flicked  a  drop  of  moisture  from  the  tail 
of  the  radish  on  to  the  floor. 

That  nose!    That  brown-paper- tinted  complexion! 

"Oh  goodness!"  ejaculated  Angela,  and,  falling 
back  a  step,  she  dropped  a  book  she  had  been  carrying 
on  the  doorstep. 

Lady  Di  revolved  slowly  on  her  seat ;  then  she  rose, 
and  stood  with  one  hand  on  the  table  and  the  other 
feeling  for  her  eyeglasses.  She  put  them  on  and 
fixed  Angela  with  a  searching  stare. 

Angela  was  too  petrified  by  astonishment  to  do 
anything  but  stare  back.  Lady  Di  smiled — a.  smile 
which  dawned  slowly  and  painfully,  like  the  gleam  of 
winter  sunshine  on  dry  fields  after  a  black  frost. 

"Well!"  she  said,  advancing  a  step.  "You  're 
surprised.  I  've  kept  my  word  you  see.  I  told  you  in 
my  letter  that  if  I  came  north  for  some  fishing,  I  'd 
look  you  up." 

Angela  was  limply  preparing  to  take  the  hand  held 
out  to  her,  when  Lady  Di  stooped  and,  making  a  peck 
at  her  face,  kissed  her  on  her  cheek. 

"I  haven't  done  that  since  Edwin  died,"  she 
remarked  grimly;  then  she  added,  "  I  never  had  a  child 
of  my  own,  but  that  's  no  reason  why  I  shotdd  n't 
have  a  mother's  feelings.  I  've  always  said  I  was 
prepared  to  act  the  part  of  a  mother  to  you,  Angela 
— I  've  said  so  repeatedly." 


Lady  Di  Takes  Possession        289 

Angela  murmured  something  unintelligible.  Lady 
Di  warmed  to  her  subject. 

"I  never  approved,  as  you  know,  of  your  father 
leaving  you  to  the  care  of  that  flipperty-gibbet  Flossie. 
Many  a  time  I  have  told  Flossie  that  I  don't  approve 
of  him,  and  I  shall  consider  it  my  duty  to  keep  on 
telling  him  so,  whenever  there  's  occasion." 

Angela  felt  a  prickly  sensation  creeping  over  her — 
she  always  did  when  she  heard  Flossie  maligned  by 
Lady  Di.     She  held  herself  silent  with  an  effort. 

Lady  Di  continued  complacently: 

"I  said  to  myself  when  I  found  that  I  was  within 
a  day's  drive  of  you,  *  It 's  my  duty  to  go  and  see 
Angela.'  "  She  put  up  her  eye  glasses  again  and 
almost  beamed  through  them  at  her  victim.  "I  'm 
very  glad  that  I  did  come.  My  dear  Angela,  you 
may  treat  me  with  complete  confidence." 

"Oh!  what  shall  I  do  with  her?"  murmured  Angela 
faintly.  She  rallied  desperately.  "  It  was  very  kind 
of  you  to  come  and  see  me — us,  I  mean.  I  'm  so  sorry 
we  were  out  and  you  had  to  wait.  Jock  will  be  in 
directly.  Please  go  on  with  your  tea.  I  am  so  glad 
you  did  not  wait  for  us.  I  hope  Sheila  has  given  you 
everything  that  you  like?" 

"Thank  you!  I  asked  for  what  I  wanted,"  said 
Lady  Di.  "You  grow  excellent  radishes.  I  should 
like  to  have  a  bunch  to  take  back  with  me  if  you  have 
any  to  spare.  I  'm  stopping  at  the  inn,  and  hired 
the  inn  pony  to  bring  me  over.  The  slowest  beast 
and  the  most  ramshackle  machine  to  be  foimd  north 
of  the  Tweed,  I  should  imagine."  Her  eyes  fixed 
themselves  on  the  salad-dish.  "Yes,  I  shouldn't 
mind  taking  a  bunch  of  radishes  back  with  me." 
19 


290  Bawbee  Jock 

A  shadow  crossed  the  window. 

"Jock!  Now  what  will  happen?"  and  Angela 
looked  imploringly  at  Jock  as  he  entered. 

Whatever  of  a  surprise  it  was  to  Jock  to  find  Lady 
Di  in  possession  of  his  house  and  making  herself  very 
much  at  home  in  it,  he  greeted  his  guest  with  a  courte- 
ous hospitality  which  Angela  felt  was  a  mute  reproach 
to  herself.  She  had  never  seen  him  entertain  any  one 
in  his  own  house  before.  She  watched  him  with  an 
odd,  new  sense  of  pride.  He  understood  his  duties  of 
host  very  well. 

"It  would  not  matter  who  it  was,  he  would  be  just 
the  same.  And  it  does  not  seem  to  occur  to  him  that 
it  is  the  least  beneath  his  dignity  to  go  and  fetch 
things  that  most  men  would  ring  the  bell  for,"  she 
said  to  herself. 

Lady  Di  looked  with  approval  on  Jock;  his  quiet 
movements  and  the  way  in  which  he  paid  her  small 
attentions  gratified  her.  Angela  soliloquised  to  her- 
self as  she  looked  on  and  watched. 

"She  likes  him.  She  likes  men  a  great  deal  better 
than  women.  They  're  talking  about  fishing  now — 
flies  and  casts,  and  things  she  understands  better  than 
a  mother's  feelings.  Oh  dear !  I  hope  she  '11  keep  on 
talking  about  subjects  like  that." 

Lady  Di  was  chipping  the  top  off  her  second  egg. 
She  was  feeling  very  much  at  home,  and  looking 
round,  remarked  patronisingly : 

"You  've  got  a  nice  little  place  here." 

Jock  smiled. 

"It's  very  small,"  he  said.  And  added  politely: 
"So  small  that  we  are  denied  the  pleasiu^e  of  inviting 
a  guest  to  stay  with  us." 


Lady  Di  Takes  Possession        291 

Lady  Di  helped  herself  to  salt,  and  began  to  work 
it  slowly  and  gently  into  the  yolk  of  her  egg. 

"It  served  your  time  as  a  bachelor  very  well,  I 
expect,"  she  said.  "But  when  you  move  back  into 
the  other  house,  what  will  you  do  with  this  one?" 

Angela  hastily  caught  up  the  dish  of  radishes  and 
held  it  forward. 

Lady  Di  waved  it  aside. 

"Not  until  I  've  finished  my  egg,  thank  you."  And 
she  continued  her  conversation  where  she  had  left  off. 

"When  you  make  your  move,  I  wouldn't  mind 
taking  this  place  off  your  hands,"  she  said,  addressing 
Jock  pointedly.  "Would  you  let  some  fishing  with 
it?" 

Angela  still  held  forward  the  dish  of  radishes 
insinuatingly. 

"Those  Httle  round  ones  are  so  crisp,"  she  said, 
with  pressing  hospitality. 

Lady  Di  helped  herself  to  a  radish  absently.  She 
was  preoccupied  with  her  subject,  and  was  waiting  for 
Jock  to  reply  to  her  question. 

"Well?"  she  said  interrogatively. 

Jock  made  some  rather  vague  answer  which  com- 
mitted him  to  nothing. 

But  if  there  was  the  chance  of  getting  what  she 
wanted  by  persistency.  Lady  Di  never  allowed  a  sub- 
ject to  drop.     She  still  continued  to  address  Jock. 

"What  do  you  think  of  my  suggestion?  I  would 
make  a  very  good  tenant.  And  of  course  you  '11  be 
moving  out  of  this  as  soon  as  Monty  Potter's  time  's 
up." 

"Jock,  we  want  some  more  hot  water,"  interrupted 
Angela. 


292  Bawbee  Jock 

"I  filled  up  the  teapot  only  a  few  minutes  ago," 
answered  Jock,  looking  at  her  in  surprise. 

"It 's  cream,  then — there  's  no  cream.  I  knew  I 
wanted  something." 

She  thrust  the  cream-jug  into  his  hand,  and  he  went 
away  with  it  obediently. 

Lady  Di  smiled  her  dry,  wintry  smile. 

"  How  rustic !  Has  he  gone  to  milk  the  cow?  This 
kind  of  playing  at  love  in  a  cottage  is  very  pretty. 
What  do  you  do?  Wash  up  the  dishes  and  make  the 
beds?"  She  leant  forward  and  planted  her  hands  on 
her  knees,  which  was  her  favotirite  attitude  when  she 
meant  to  be  emphatic.  She  nodded  in  the  direction 
of  the  door  through  which  Jock  had  disappeared. 

"Angela!  I  think  you've  made  a  wise  choice; 
though  I  must  say  when  I  first  heard  of  it  I  thought 
you  were  marrying  a  pig  in  a  poke,  for  no  one  knew 
much  about  him,  except  that  he  was  saving."  She 
nodded  again.  "I  should  like  to  tell  him  that  I  'm 
satisfied,  and  think  that  he  '11  make  you  a  good 
husband,  and  that  he  can  be  trusted  to " 

"Please  don't  do  anything  of  the  kind,"  broke  in 
Angela.  "He  would  not  like  it.  He  is  dreadfully 
particular.     Scotch  people — Highlanders — ^are " 

Jock  was  heard  returning. 

"Please  don't  make  personal  remarks,  and  please 
don't  say  anything  more  about  renting  the  house,"  she 
whispered  breathlessly  as  Jock  re-entered  with  the 
cream-jug. 

Lady  Di  sniffed,  and  helped  herself  to  honey. 

"  I  suppose  you  've  heard  of  Beauty's  engagement?  " 
she  remarked,  after  a  few  moments'  pause. 

"No,"  said  Angela. 


Lady  Di  Takes  Possession       293 

"  Well,  it 's  just  out.  He  's  found  an  heiress  at  last. 
She  's  quite  hideous  and  very  stupid."  She  chuckled, 
and  blinked  her  eyes  at  Angela.  "He  'd  have  done 
better  for  himself  if  he  'd  managed  to " 

"Oh,  the  honey's  dropping  off  your  scone!"  ex- 
claimed Angela.  She  rose  hastily.  "  I  'm  afraid  it 's 
gone  on  your  dress.  Do  let  me  mop  it  up  for  you. 
Honey  is  such  a  sticky,  messy  thing." 

"I  did  n't  see  it  drop,"  said  Lady  Di.  "I  'd  better 
eat  up  the  scone  and  then  it 's  safe." 

Before  she  had  finished  her  scone,  Angela  had  started 
a  fresh  topic. 

"How  is  Dolly?"  she  asked.  "I  haven't  heard 
from  her  for  ages." 

"Dolly!  I  've  no  patience  with  Dolly.  A  poor 
thing !  She  has  n't  the  pluck  of  a  chicken,  or  she 
would  have  got  rid  of  that  objectionable  creature, 
Monty  Potter,  before  now."  Lady  Di  pushed  back 
her  plate.  She  glanced  at  Jock,  and  then  at  Angela. 
"I  would  n't  mind  betting  that  we  '11  see  the  end  of 
that  before  long."  She  fixed  Jock  with  her  eyeglass. 
"I  should  n't  wonder  if  your  tenant  did  n't  turn  up 
for  the  twelfth,  or  for  any  of  the  shooting,  this  season." 

Jock  looked  surprised,  but  said  nothing. 

"I  did  n't  ask  questions,  but  I  fancy  he  '11  have  other 
fish  to  fry,"  said  Lady  Di  oracularly.  She  wagged 
her  head  at  Jock  solemnly.  "I  don't  suppose  you  're 
sorry  that  this  is  his  last  season.  I  hope  he  's  paid  you 
a  good  rent ;  but,  of  course,  you  '11  be  glad  to  get  things 
back  into  your  own  hands  now,  and  Angela  will — 
No,  Angela,  that 's  not  my  pocket-handkerchief.  I 
never  drop  my  pocket-handkerchief  about  on  the 
floor.    It 's  your  own." 


294  Bawbee  Jock 

"So  it  is,"  murmured  Angela. 

Angela  raised  a  flushed  face  to  Jock. 

"Jock,  don't  you  think  Lady  Di  would  like  to  go  out 
and  see  the  garden?    We  might  pick  her  some  flowers." 

"Flowers!  No,  I  don't  think  I  *ve  much  use  for 
flowers,"  said  Lady  Di,  rising  slowly.  "I  'm  staying 
at  the  inn,  and  I  'm  off  the  day  after  to-morrow.  But 
— I  should  n't  mind  a  bunch  of  radishes.  If  they  were 
wrapped  up  in  a  cabbage  leaf  I  could  put  them  in  my 
pocket.  It 's  time  I  was  going."  She  glanced  at  the 
clock.  "That  beast  that  I  'm  driving  has  only  one 
pace.     It  crawls  up  hills  and  walks  on  the  flat." 

Jock  would  not  let  Angela  go  down  to  the  gate  to 
see  Lady  Di  off. 

"I  think  I'd  better,"  she  said  nervously,  in  an 
under  tone. 

"No,"  he  answered;  "you  are  tired.  I  '11  see  her 
off,  and  we  '11  pick  the  radishes  on  the  way  through 
the  garden." 

Angela  watched  the  two  figtu-es  go  down  the  garden 
path.  Lady  Di  marching  on  in  front,  talking  in 
strident  tones  to  Jock  over  her  shoulder.  It  was  all 
about  radishes. 

"Thank  goodness!  When  she  's  off  on  one  of  her 
hobbies,  she  runs  it  to  death,"  she  said;  and  she  went 
back  into  the  house,  and  taking  off  her  hat,  put  up  her 
hands  to  her  hot  forehead. 

"Oh,  what  a  strain  it  has  been!  She  was  dreadful. 
She  has  n't  a  grain  of  tact.  I  do  hope  no  more  people 
will  come  and  look  us  up.  I  don't  want  to  be  looked 
up.  I  want  to  be  left  alone.  I  don't  want  any  one 
except  my  dear  Bawbee."  She  sighed.  "I  don't 
believe  I  even  want  Flossie." 


•       CHAPTER  XXV 
Christina! 

JOCK  seemed  to  be  a  very  long  time  in  seeing  his 
guest  off.  It  appeared  to  Angela  to  be  an  un- 
necessarily long  time.  She  did  not  rest,  but  went  and 
stood  by  the  window  of  the  sitting-room.  It  com- 
manded a  better  view  of  the  gate  than  the  hall. 

Through  the  holly-arch  she  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Lady  Di  standing  by  the  pony-cart.  It  was  evident 
that  she  was  doing  all  the  talking,  for  Jock  stood  in  a 
listening  attitude — Angela  knew  that  by  the  way  he 
held  his  head  down. 

"What  can  she  be  saying  to  him?  How  I  wish  she 
had  not  come!"  she  sighed  impatiently. 

At  last  she  saw  Lady  Di  get  into  the  pony-cart. 
Jock  helped  her  in,  and  she  shook  his  hand  impres- 
sively at  parting,  as  though  she  were  giving  him  a 
last  injunction;  then  gathering  up  the  reins,  she 
poked  the  pony's  hind-quarters  with  the  butt  end 
of  a  broken  whip,  and  the  cart  jingled  out  of  sight. 

Angela  listened  to  the  sound  of  the  retreating 
wheels;  she  heard  the  gate  click  as  it  swung  to,  and 
she  saw  Jock  coming  up  the  pathway. 

He  walked  very  slowly  and  still  held  his  head  down. 
She  heard  him  come  into  the  hall,  and  he  called  her 
name. 

295 


296  Bawbee  Jock 

"I  'm  here,"  she  answered. 

He  entered  the  room,  and  coming  over  to  where  she 
was  standing,  put  both  hands  on  her  shoulders  and 
looked  at  her  searchingly. 

There  was  a  pained  expression  on  his  face  and  he 
did  not  seem  to  know  what  to  say.  The  colour  flamed 
up  into  her  cheeks  and  then  died  suddenly  away  again. 
She  swayed  a  little,  and  he  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and 
carrying  her  over  to  the  sofa,  laid  her  down  on  it. 

"I  'm  all  right,"  she  said,  struggling  to  sit  upright. 

"You  must  lie  still,"  he  answered,  and  he  forced 
her  gently  back. 

She  allowed  her  head  to  fall  on  the  cushion,  but  she 
was  still  only  for  a  moment. 

"I  was  tired,"  she  said.  " Lady  Di  tired  me.  What 
was  she  talking  to  you  about,  down  at  the  gate  just 
now?" 

"She  was  saying  that  she  thought  it  was  her  duty 
to — to  open  my  eyes  about  you,"  said  Jock. 

"About — me?"  Angela's  voice  barely  rose  above 
a  whisper. 

"  She  told  me  that  I  was  an  ignorant  boy,  and — that 
I  'd  no  business  to  have  a  wife,"  blurted  out  Jock. 

"Was  it  that? — was  she  talking  about  that  all  the 
time?"  asked  Angela. 

"Yes,"  said  Jock.  "She  said  she  felt  that  it  was 
her  duty  to  speak  to  me.  That  you  were  very 
young,  and  that  she  had  always  had  the  feehngs  of 
a " 

"A  mother!    Oh,  Jock,  dearest!" 

A  peal  of  laughter  interrupted  Jock's  explanation. 
But  he  had  not  finished  his  say,  and  he  plodded  on 
valiantly. 


Christina !  297 

"She  said  she  would  be  very  glad  to  help  me  with 
her  advice,  and  she  asked  me  what  I  was  going  to 
do  with  you?  And  how  long  I  was  going  to  keep 
you  in  this  God-forsaken  place?  I  suppose  I  said 
something  stupid,  for  it  was  after  that  that  she  told 
me  that  I  was  an  ignorant  boy,  and  had  no  business 
to  have  a  wife." 

Angela  buried  her  face  in  the  sofa  cushions  and 
went  off  into  fresh  peals  of  laughter. 

"But  she  meant  to  be  kind,  dear,"  remonstrated 
Jock. 

Angela  sat  up  and  wiped  her  eyes. 

"It's  very  funny,"  she  said.  "Dearest!  do  take 
that  scared  look  off  your  face.  Forget  all  about  it. 
Perhaps  she  did  mean  to  be  kind;  but  I  think  it  was 
very  interfering  of  her  to  call  you  names,  and  tell  you 
that  you  did  n't  know  how  to  take  care  of  me.  Such 
nonsense!" 

"But  she  's  put  me  in  an  awfui  fright,"  said  Jock. 
"  She  really  has  opened  my  eyes." 

"Then  shut  them  up  again,"  said  Angela. 

But  Jock  was  not  to  be  put  off  lightly. 

"She  says  I  must  n't  keep  you  up  here.  That  it 's 
too  isolated,  and — so  it  is,"  he  said. 

"  Make  me  go  away  from  Glenmoira!"  cried  Angela 
indignantly.  "I  won't  go!"  Her  lip  quivered  and 
she  looked  at  him  imploringly.  "  Don't  take  me  away 
from  the  place  I  love  so  well.  Where  would  I  be  bet- 
ter than  here?  And  I  have  you  to  take  care  of  me. 
What  else  do  I  want?" 

Jock  rubbed  his  forehead.  He  was  very  much 
perplexed. 

"  That 's  it,"  he  said.     "  I  'm  just  what  she  said — an 


298  Bawbee  Jock 

ignorant  boy.  You  ought  to  have  some  one  who — 
who  really  would  be  like  a  mother  to  you." 

Angela  reflected.  She  sighed  and  laid  her  head 
down  again. 

"I  know,"  she  said  meekly.  "I  Ve  been  wonder- 
ing—  But — I  did  n't  like  to  make  a  fuss  and  worry 
you." 

' '  Worry  me !    As  if  that  mattered." 

She  lay  quiet  for  some  time,  and  then  she  said 
plaintively: 

"We  're  both  very  relationless,  are  n't  we?  It 's  a 
good  thing  to  be  relationless,  perhaps,  when  you  don't 
want  to  be  bothered  with  people;  but  it  has  its  dis- 
advantages. We  want  some  nice,  kind  sort  of  Mother- 
Bunch  just  now,  don't  we?"  She  lay  quiet  a  little 
longer.  "Let  us  both  shut  our  eyes,  and  think  hard 
together  at  the  same  time,  and  perhaps  it  will  bring 
an  inspiration,"  she  suggested  presently. 

So,  like  two  children,  hand  clasped  in  hand,  they 
waited  for  their  inspiration.  It  must  have  come  to 
them  both  simultaneously;  for  Angela  opened  her 
eyes  suddenly  and  said  "Christina!"  and  Jock  echoed 
"Christina!"  after  her  so  quickly  that  he  must  have 
been  going  to  say  it  of  his  own  accord. 

"What  a  pair  of  sillies  we  were  not  to  think  of 
Christina  before!"  exclaimed  Angela.  "She's  not 
exactly  a  Mother-Bunch,  but  she 's — she 's  just 
Christina."  She  nestled  back  contentedly  against  the 
cushion  which  Christina's  own  fingers  had  worked. 
"Perhaps  some  good  has  come  out  of  Lady  Di's  visit 
after  all,"  she  said.     "It 's  settled  Christina." 

By  a  strange  coincidence  it  transpired  that  Christina 
had  been  thinking,  just  about  that  time,  of  taking  a 


Christina !  299 

few  days'  holiday.  She  had  had  a  busy  winter  and 
was  a  little  run  down,  and  a  breath  of  Highland  air 
was  the  one  thing  in  the  world  which  would  set  her 
up  again,  she  said,  when  writing  to  her  brother. 

So  Christina  came  up  to  Glenmoira  and  spent  a 
whole  week  there,  and  it  was  a  very  happy  week. 
There  were  picnics  on  the  loch,  and  teas  in  the  manse 
garden,  and  Christina  radiated  the  magnetism  of  her 
strong,  comforting  personality  upon  every  one  with 
whom  she  came  in  contact.  When  she  went  away  she 
left  peace  and  confidence  and  boundless  hope  behind 
her. 

Jock  drove  her  over  to  the  station  himself  and  saw 
her  settled  in  the  train.  A  bunch  of  the  sweetest 
flowers  in  Angela's  garden  had  been  picked  for  her, 
and  a  large  brown  basket  with  folding  lids,  full  of  real 
country  luxuries,  sat  on  the  seat  beside  her. 

"It 's  done  me  a  world  of  good,  this  breath  of  my 
native  air  "  she  said  to  Jock,  who  stood  on  the  foot- 
board, waiting  for  the  train  to  start.  "There's  no 
such  air  to  be  found  in  all  the  length  and  breadth  of 
Scotland  as  in  oiu:  own  glens,"  she  added,  with  a 
smile  of  pride. 

"Then  you  really  think  she  could  n't  be  better  any- 
where else  than  here?"  asked  Jock  earnestly. 

"Sure?  Of  course  I  'm  sure,"  was  the  confident 
answer.  "She  's  as  well  and  happy  as  the  days  are 
long." 

"And  you  '11  take  care  of  her  for  me,  Christina? 
You  won't  let  anything  stand  in  the  way?" 

"Don't  you  worry,  dearie,"  answered  Christina, 
her  tongue  slipping  into  the  old  childish  tones  of 
affection  that  brought  back  the  days  of  his  boyhood. 


300  Bawbee  Jock 

"I  won't  fail  you.  I  '11  come  up  here  and  have  my 
bit  holiday  first,  and  then  she  's  to  come  back  with  me, 
and  I  '11  take  care  of  her  for  you!  Is  n't  it  the  very 
best  of  everything  that  she  '11  be  getting?  "  Christina 
smiled,  and  the  deep-set  grey  eyes,  which  had  such  a 
shrewd,  kindly  light  in  them,  looked  into  his  reas- 
stuingly.  "Don't  fash  yourself,  dearie.  There's 
the  whistle.  Now  see  and  don't  get  carried  away  on 
the  footboard." 

But  Jock  remained  on  the  footboard,  and  held 
Christina's  hand  tmtil  the  train  had  crawled  out  of  the 
station.  Then  he  jumped  off,  and  stood  by  the  side 
of  the  rail,  and  waved  his  blue  bonnet,  and  watched 
the  train  until  it  was  out  of  sight. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

AN  IMPERATIVE  SUMMONS 

CHRISTINA'S  bunch  of  sweet  flowers  had  been 
picked  with  great  care  by  Angela  herself.     She 
had  developed  a  great  interest  in  her  garden. 

"  Considering  that  I  have  never  had  a  garden  before, 
not  a  real  country  one,  I  think  it  is  very  clever  of  me 
to  know  the  names  of  so  many  of  the  flowers,"  she  was 
wont  to  remark  to  Jock. 

The  summer  was  creeping  on.  It  was  the  beginning 
of  August  now — the  time  of  all  seasons,  perhaps,  when 
a  Scotch  garden  is  at  its  most  luxiirious  stage  of  bloom 
and  colour. 

One  afternoon  Jock  found  Angela  with  a  spade, 
looking  very  hot  and  flushed,  digging  up  a  giant  poppy 
in  the  herbaceous  border. 

He  took  the  spade  away  from  her  with  an  ex- 
clamation of  anger. 

"That  arrogant  thing  is  taking  up  all  the  room  to 
itself,  and  squashing  out  some  dear  little  flowers  that 
can't  push  for  themselves,"  she  said  in  defence. 
"Look!  And  they  are  so  sweet;  and  I  hate  poppies — 
they  smell  horrid.  Hamish  won't  dig  them  up  because 
he  says  they  've  always  grown  there." 

"If  I  find  you  with  a  spade  in  your  hand  again,  I 
shall  tie  you  up  in  the  house  when  I  'm  not  about  to 
look  after  you,"  said  Jock  wrathftilly. 

301 


302  Bawbee  Jock 

Her  mouth  drooped. 

"I  want  to  do  such  heaps  of  things,"  she  said. 
"That 's  the  worst  of  having  a  busy  mind." 

Jock  shovildered  the  spade. 

"Tell  me  what  you  want  done.  I  '11  dig  up  any 
thing  you  like,  but  you  're  not  to  touch  a  spade 
again."  He  took  her  hands  and  looked  at  them. 
"And  you  've  been  grubbing  in  the  ground,  too. 
Angela!" 

"Don't  you  like  to  see  my  fingers  nice  and  grubby 
like  that?"  she  asked.     "They  look  so  useful." 

"That 's  not  the  use  they  're  meant  for,"  he  said. 
"You  must  go  and  wash  them,  and  then  you  can  bring 
your  work  out  and  sit  under  the  cherry  tree  and  look 
on,  and  tell  me  what  you  want  done." 

He  had  made  a  seat  for  her  under  an  old  cherry  tree 
at  the  top  of  the  garden,  and  she  spent  a  great  deal  of 
her  time  there. 

She  took  her  scolding  about  the  spade  penitently, 
and  went  and  washed  her  hands,  and  came  back  with 
her  work-basket  and  settled  herself  down  to  work. 
The  work-basket  was  always  very  full  now;  sometimes 
the  Hd  would  hardly  close;  the  birds  could  rebuke  her 
no  longer  for  lack  of  industry. 

She  threaded  her  needle  and  put  on  her  thimble. 
Jock  stood  for  a  few  minutes  and  watched  her.  It 
was  a  very  hot  afternoon;  the  August  sun  was  blazing 
down  in  its  full  strength.  WhUst  she  had  been  indoors 
he  had  dug  up  the  offending  poppy,  and  was  waiting 
to  see  what  she  required  of  him  next. 

"I  like  to  see  your  hands  doing  that  kind  of  work," 
he  said. 

Angela  laughed,  a  pleased,  happy  laugh. 


An  Imperative  Summons         303 

"I  really  do  sew  nicely,  don't  I?  Look!  You 
almost  want  a  microscope  to  see  the  stitches." 

Jock  touched  with  a  cautious  finger  what  she  held 
up  to  him. 

"  You  must  n't  htu^t  your  eyes,"  he  said.  "  I  would 
rather  buy  everything  for  you  than  let  you  do  that." 

"Buy!"  she  echoed  indignantly.  "As  if  you  could 
buy  anything  so  pretty  as  that";  and  she  smoothed 
out  the  scrap  of  cambric  and  lace  lovingly. 

"Are  n't  you  going  to  do  any  more  work?"  she  said. 
"All  those  sweet  peas  want  tying  back,  and  that 
sprawling  briar  catches  my  skirt  every  time  I  pass  it." 

Jock  took  off  his  coat,  and  hiuig  it  over  the  back 
of  the  seat. 

"It 's  baking  hot  out  there,"  he  said. 

He  had  not  tied  back  more  than  half  the  sweet  peas 
before  she  called  him. 

"But  I  'm  not  finished,"  he  remonstrated. 

"  Never  mind ;  I  want  you."  , 

She  made  him  sit  down  on  the  wooden  board  which 
her  feet  rested  on,  and  searching  in  the  pocket  of  the , 
coat  she  was  leaning  against,  she  found  his  pipe  and 
tobacco-pouch  and  gave  it  to  him  with  the  startling 
remark : 

"I  don't  believe  you  are  a  genuine  Highlander. 
You  must  be  a  changeUng." 

"Why?"  he  asked.  '  , 

"Because  you  're  so  fond  of  working,  and  you  al- 
ways want  to  finish  whatever  you  have  begim." 

Jock  was  unrolling  his  tobacco-pouch. 

"What  's  that  got  to  do  with  it?"  he  asked. 

"Because  your  beloved  Highlanders,  for  all  their 
devotion  and  poetic  love  for  their  native  land,  are 


304  Bawbee  Jock 

shockingly  lazy,"  she  said.  "  Do  you  think  I  have  n't 
eyes?  You  would  do  more  work  in  the  garden  in  one 
afternoon  than  Hamish  would  in  a  week." 

Jock  went  on  filling  his  pipe.  When  she  chose  to 
attack  him  on  such  a  vulnerable  subject  as  his  beloved 
Highlanders,  he  always  took  refuge  in  grieved  silence. 
Presently  he  remarked : 

"  I  had  such  an  odd  letter  from  Potter  last  night/  I 
can't  make  him  out." 

"Why?"  asked  Angela. 

"He  's  so  uncertain.  One  day  he  writes  and  asks 
me  to  make  arrangements  for  his  coming  up,  and  the 
next  the  whole  thing 's  off.  We  are  within  a  few  days 
of  the  twelfth  now,  and  from  his  lettter  last  night  I 
don't  believe  he  intends  to  come  up  for  it." 

Angela  laid  down  her  work. 

"You  remember  Lady  Di's  remarks  about  him?" 
she  said. 

Jock  thought  for  a  moment. 

"Yes,"  he  answered. 

"I  heard  from  Lady  Di  the  other  evening,"  said 
Angela.  "  It 's  that  detestable  woman.  You  know — 
you  met  her.  She  sat  beside  you  at  lunch  that  day  on 
the  moor,  and  tried  to  make  you  drink  her  cherry 
brandy." 

"I  remember,"  said  Jock  slowly. 

"Oh!  it 's  a  horrid,  sordid  story,"  continued  Angela, 
flushing.  "I  did  not  want  to  talk  about  it.  I  'm  so 
sorry  for  Dolly,  except —  Well,  I  suppose  she  '11 
get  rid  of  him  now.     She  must!" 

Jock  took  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth,  and  looked 
at  it. 

"And  so  that 's  why  he  's  not  coming  up?"  he  said. 


An  Imperative  Summons        305 

"I'm  glad  he  has  the  decency  to  stop  away,"  he 
concluded  shortly. 

The  subject  was  allowed  to  drop.  When  Angela 
spoke  again,  her  voice  had  changed.  She  had  not 
taken  up  her  work:  she  was  looking  out  across  the 
sunny  garden,  away  to  where  the  bloom  of  the  heather 
was  purpling  the  hillsides. 

"Jock,"  she  said  slowly,  "sometimes  I  am  afraid  of 
my  great  happiness,  when  I  compare  my  life  with — 
other  women's  lives.  And  love  can  be  dreadftdly 
selfish.  Sometimes  I  am  afraid  that  I  am  making 
an  idol  of  my  love.  If  anything  came  between  us, 
anything  that  tried  to  take  you  from  me,  I  should  feel 
like  some  w:ild  tigerish  animal — I  know  I  should.  It 
must  be  wicked  to  feel  like  that."  She  leant  over  him 
and  rested  her  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "People  have 
things  taken  from  them,  just  to  show  how  helpless 
they  are.  I  want  to  live  for  nothing  but  you.  Is  it 
right  to  love  like  that?  It  haunts  me  sometimes  with 
a  kind  of  foreboding." 

"You  are  not  to  think  thoughts  like  that,"  said 
Jock;  "it  is  morbid.  And  it  is  not  true  to  say  that 
you  are  selfish.  You  always  think  of  me  before  yoiir- 
self.  Do  you  think  I  don't  know  that?"  He  took 
her  hand  and  gave  it  a  little  shake,  and  looked  up 
into  her  face.  "Cheer  up,"  he  said.  "I  won't  listen 
to  you  if  you  're  going  to  talk  about  forebodings,  and 
depressing  things  like  that." 

She  tried  to  smile. 

"Perhaps  I  get  silly  ideas  into  my  head,"  she  said 
apologetically.  "I  was  reading  one  of  those  funny 
old  books  in  your  room  the  other  day,  and  it  was 
all  about  presentiments,  and  how  that  oftenest  just 


3o6  Bawbee  Jock 

before  something  dreadful  occurred  you  were  happiest, 
and " 

"  I  shall  lock  up  every  book  in  the  house,  if  you  go 
trying  to  find  such  tmcomfortable  things  to  read," 
said  Jock.  "Look  here,"  he  added,  rising,  "there's 
Sheila  coming  out  to  tell  us  tea  's  ready.  We  '11  have 
it  here." 

From  the  seat  under  the  cherry  tree  there  was  a 
wide  view,  not  only  of  the  garden,  but  of  far  beyond 
it.  A  small  wicket-gate  led  out  on  to  the  moor  at 
the  back ;  and  the  road,  which  was  the  only  means 
of  communication  with  the  outside  world,  wound 
irregularly  across  it,  and  could  be  seen  for  some 
distance  at  various  points. 

Angela  had  recovered  her  spirits.  They  had  almost 
finished  tea,  and  she  had  been  having  a  little  wrangle 
with  Jock  as  to  whether  she  had  put  sugar  in  his  cup 
or  not,  when  she  looked  up  and  said: 

"Jock,  is  n't  that  Doctor  Angus's  dog-cart  coming 
across  the  moor?  Do  you  see?  Is  there  any  one  ill  at 
the  clachan?" 

"What  good  eyes  you  Ve  got!"  said  Jock.  "Yes, 
it 's  Angus.  There  's  no  one  ill  that  I  know  of. 
Perhaps  he  's  going  to  look  up  old  MacPherson.  He  's 
very  good  friends  with  the  manse  folk." 

"The  people  are  all  fond  of  Doctor  Angus,"  said 
Angela.  "I  've  seen  him  sometimes  in  their  cottages. 
I  always  remember  what  Flossie  said  about  him  that 
time  of  the  scarlet  fever  scare:  that  he  was  a  grim- 
looking  beggar,  and  that  it  would  take  a  pretty 
nippy  saint  to  slip  through  his  fingers." 

"He  looks  a  bit  grim,  but  he  's  a  rare  good  sort," 
said  Jock.      "  Too  good  for  this  place  really.     He  had 


An  Imperative  Summons  307 

a  splendid  practice,  and  his  health  broke  down.  He  's 
all  right  up  here." 

They  had  forgotten  about  the  doctor.  Jock  was  sit- 
ting with  his  back  to  the  path  which  led  up  from  the 
house,  when  Angela  exclaimed  suddenly: 

"Why,  there  is  Doctor  Angus  coming  up  here!" 

Jock  rose  at  once,  and  went  to  meet  the  tall,  gaunt 
figure  which  was  seen  approaching.  He  welcomed  the 
doctor  hospitably,  and  brought  him  up  to  Angela. 

"You  have  arrived  just  in  time  for  tea,"  she  said, 
as  she  shook  hands  with  him;  "and  I  am  sure  you 
must  want  it.     The  road  looks  so  hot  and  dusty." 

She  liked  the  grim-faced  doctor.  The  shaggy  eye- 
brows, which  looked  so  fierce,  did  not  frighten  her; 
she  had  seen  the  eyes  beneath  them  soften  with  a 
very  tender  pity.  They  always  reminded  her  a  little 
of  Christina's.  They  were  deep-set  and  shrewd,  but 
there  was  more  of  fire  in  their  glow,  and  a  strong 
element  of  dogged,  fighting  obstinacy. 

He  stood  hesitatingly,  and  did  not  accept  Angela's 
offer  of  tea.     He  looked  from  her  face  to  Jock's. 

"  I  came  over  to  see  you — on  a  matter  of  business," 
he  said.     "Can  I  have  a  few  words?" 

There  was  nothing  peculiar  in  the  request.  He 
frequently  had  to  apply  to  Jock  with  regard  to  some 
matter  in  connection  with  his  work. 

"Certainly,"  said  Jock.  "Will  you  come  down  to 
the  house?"     He  glanced  at  Angela. 

"Perhaps  Doctor  Angus  will  come  back  and  have 
some  tea  after  you  have  finished  your  talk,"  she 
said;  and  taking  Jock's  coat  from  the  seat  behind 
her,  she  held  it  out  to  him.  "Put  on  your  coat," 
she  said. 


3o8  Bawbee  Jock 

As  Jock  shook  himself  into  his  coat,  an  odd  light 
flashed  up  into  the  doctor's  eyes.  The  incident  was 
so  small,  and  yet  it  held  a  world  of  meaning.  Often 
had  he  felt  his  heart  ache  for  Jock,  living  out  his  lonely, 
self-sacrificing  life  in  an  unostentatious  loyalty  to  the 
people  who  had  been  entrusted  to  his  care.  And 
now —  It  was  such  a  small  thing:  a  glance  of 
imderstanding ;  a  woman's  soft  voice  saying,  "Put 
on  your  coat."  But  it  meant  a  new  heaven  and  a 
new  earth  to  the  man. 

Angela  took  up  her  work  again  after  she  had  watched 
Jock  and  Doctor  Angus  go  back  into  the  house.  Her 
mood  of  depression  had  vanished;  she  felt  very  con- 
tented and  happy.  She  possessed  so  strongly  the  gift 
of  being  able  to  lose  herself  in  the  interest  of  the 
moment,  that  the  tiny  garment  which  was  taking 
form  and  meaning  under  the  touch  of  her  busy  fingers 
absorbed  her  completely.  She  was  xmconscious  of 
how  long  she  had  worked,  when  she  heard  Jock's  step 
coming  up  the  path.  He  was  alone;  and  the  moment 
she  caught  sight  of  his  face,  she  dropped  her  work  and 
rose  to  her  feet.  For  one  second  the  blood  seemed  to 
ebb  from  her  heart  and  then  tingle  to  her  finger-tips. 
She  controlled  herself  resolutely. 

"He  is  there — safe  before  my  eyes.  I  am  not 
afraid."     And  she  went  forward  to  meet  him. 

It  was  she  who  spoke,  for  she  saw  that  he  did  not 
know  how  to  frame  his  words.  She  read  his  thoughts 
by  the  instinct  of  love. 

"It  is  Alister,"  she  said  quickly. 

"Yes,"  answered  Jock, 

"Is  he  ill?" 

"Yes." 


An  Imperative  Summons  309 

Jock  answered  each  question  mechanically.  She 
was  doing  for  him  what  he  could  not  do  for  himself. 

"Where  is  he?"  asked  Angela. 

"Back — ^in  this  country.  He  worked  his  passage 
over  to  Liverpool.  He  's  lying  in  a  hospital  there. 
One  of  the  doctors — a  friend  of  Angus's — foimd  out 
who  he  was,  and — Angus  has  come  for  me." 

"You  mean  he  wants  you  to  go  now — start  at 
once?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Jock.  "Alister  is  very  ill — de- 
sperately ill.  He  was  coming  back  to  me."  His  voice 
grew  husky  and  strained.  "I  ought  never  to  have 
deserted  him — I  knew  he  could  not  stand  alone.  I — 
I  have  failed  in  my  trust." 

The  look  in  his  eyes,  not  of  reproach  to  herself,  but 
expressing  so  acutely  his  own  bitter  remorse,  hurt  her 
like  the  sharp  stab  of  a  knife.  It  was  she  who  had 
made  him  desert  Alister;  not  in  words  so  much  as  in 
the  subtlety  of  influence.  He  had  done  it  against  his 
better  judgment,  and  he  would  not  have  done  it  if  it 
had  not  been  for  her. 

"You  will  have  to  go  to  him,"  she  faltered,  know- 
ing that  she  must  help  him  to  put  his  duty  before  his 
love. 

"But — I  can't  leave  you  here  alone,"  said  Jock. 

"Yes,  you  can,"  she  answered  quietly. 

"I  can't,"  he  repeated;  "not  unless  I  can  get  some 
one  to  stay  with  you." 

"Does  Doctor  Angus  say  you  must  go  at  once?'* 
she  asked. 

"Yes,"  admitted  Jock. 

"Then  there  is  no  time  to  think  of  anything  but 
that.     And,  dear,  I  think  it  would  worry  me  to  have 


310  Bawbee  Jock 

any  one  with  me.     You  won't  stay  away  longer  than 
you  can  help?" 

^  "I  won't  stay  a  moment  longer  than  I  can  help,"  he 
answered. 

"Perhaps  you  will  find  it  is  not  so  bad  as  they 
think.  You  may  be  able  to  bring  him  back.  We 
will  ntirse  him  together,  you — and  I.  I  would  help 
you  all  I  could."  She  looked  up  at  him  bravely. 
"There  is  no  other  way  out  of  it,  Jock.  You  must 
go." 

Still  he  doubted. 
i      " Ought  I  to  leave  you?"  he  said. 

"It  is  your  duty  to  go,"  she  answered,  and  her  eyes 
did  not  flinch. 

"  Sheila  is  to  be  trusted,"  he  said.  "  She  would  sleep 
in  the  house,  of  cotu-se." 

She  saw  that  he  was  wavering.  Her  heart  felt  like 
lead,  but  she  would  not  let  him  see  what  she  felt. 

"Dearest,  what  harm  can  come  to  me?"  she  said. 
"This  is  my  home,  and  all  your  own  people  are  round 
me.  I  shall  be  quite  safe."  She  put  her  hand 
through  his  arm,  and  gently  drew  him  along  with  her. 
"You  have  no  time  to  waste  in  words,"  she  said. 
"You  will  have  to  change,  and  you  will  have  to 
pack.     Come!     I  will  help  you." 

An  hour  later  she  was  sitting  alone  in  the  haU, 
staring  blankly  through  the  open  door. 

Jock  was  gone — out  of  sight  and  hearing.  Was  it 
possible?  She  could  still  feel  the  clasp  of  his  arms, 
still  feel  the  touch  of  his  last  kiss  on  her  lips. 

She  sat  for  some  time  in  a  kind  of  apathy — the 
consciousness  of  doubt  settling  into  the  certainty  of 
reality. 


An  Imperative  Summons         311 

"  I  played  at  missing  him  before — that  day  when 
he  left  me  first;  but  this — "  She  looked  round 
her.  "It's — desolation!  The  very  abomination  of 
desolation."  And  she  laid  her  head  down  on  the 
arm  of  Jock's  big  chair  and  wept  bitterly. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  LIGHT  ON  BURYING  ISLAND 

THE  hours  passed,  but  on  leaden  feet.  Angela 
spent  a  restless  night,  broken  by  fitful  dreams. 
Her  spirit  must  have  been  with  Jock,  for  in  her  dreams 
she  was  haunted  persistently  by  the  continuous  clatter 
of  speeding  trains,  the  throb  of  engines,  the  discordant 
shriek  of  steam  whistles,  and  a  pandemonium  of 
clamour  and  noise. 

She  awoke  unrefreshed.  It  seemed  so  strange  to 
look  forward  to  a  day  without  the  joyous  anticipation 
of  what  each  hour  might  bring  forth.  She  had  not 
allowed  Sheila  to  tidy  Jock's  room,  and  it  gave  her 
a  mournful  pleasure  to  see  the  signs  of  his  hurried 
preparations  for  departure  lying  about  in  it.  He  was 
always  very  neat  and  careful  of  his  personal  belong- 
ings, but  the  untidiness  spoke  so  forcibly  of  him  that 
it  comforted  her. 

"He  has  left  his  real  self  behind  him.  He  did  not 
look  a  bit  like  himself  when  he  went  away  in  those 
stupid,  ordinary  clothes  like  any  other  man,"  she  al- 
most sobbed,  as  she  himg  his  kilt  over  the  back  of  a 
chair.  She  picked  up  his  sporran,  and  rubbed  her 
cheek  against  the  otter  skin.  His  dirk  lay  on  the 
dressing-table,  just  where  he  had  thrown  it  down,  and 
she  would  not  have  it  moved.    She  took  out  her  hand- 

312 


The  Light  on  Burying  Island      313 

kerchief  and  dusted  the  room  herself,  and  then  she 
locked  it  up  and  put  the  key  in  her  pocket,  for  no 
reason  except  that  she  liked  to  know  that  it  was  there. 

Dileas  followed  her  wherever  she  went,  like  a 
shadow,  and  seemed  to  reproach  her  for  her  restless- 
ness; until  at  length  she  was  compelled,  out  of  sheer 
pity,  to  sit  down  and  let  him  lay  his  head  on  her  knee. 

Dtuing  the  long  morning  and  up  till  late  in  the 
afternoon  she  kept  saying  to  herself,  "This  time  yes- 
terday he  was  here."  But  by  tea-time  her  courage  had 
begun  to  flag,  and  then  an  unexpected  interruption 
occurred.  She  was  sitting  under  the  cherry  tree,  for 
she  could  not  bear  the  oppression  of  the  house,  and 
she  was  gazing  longingly  at  the  road  which  wound 
across  the  moor,  when,  turning  her  head  at  the  sound 
of  a  footstep,  she  saw  old  Mr.  MacPherson  slowly 
mounting  the  steep  incline.  His  kind  old  face  bright- 
ened into  a  smile  as  she  came  a  few  steps  down  the  path 
to  meet  him. 

"  How  kind  of  you ! "  was  her  greeting.  "  You  have 
heard — you  know.  You  came  to  comfort  me,  did 
you  not?" 

"I  am  but  an  old  man,  yet  I  thought  maybe  it  is 
a  friend's  face  that  you  would  be  willing  to  see,"  he 
answered  in  his  soft  voice,  which  had  the  Highland 
lilt  of  sweetness  so  strongly  marked  in  its  tone. 

So  Angela  was  not  left  in  sad  loneliness  with  only 
her  own  thoughts  for  company.  When  Sheila  brought 
out  tea,  she  waited  on  the  old  man  with  tender  care; 
and  after  tea  was  over,  and  they  had  talked  for  a 
while,  she  walked  round  the  garden  with  him. 

Mr.  MacPherson's  knowledge  of  a  garden  was  very 
wide  and  interesting.     He  knew  not  only  the  name  of 


314  Bawbee  Jock 

every  flower,  and  how  it  grew,  but  its  use  and  place 
in  the  scheme  of  plant  life.  When  in  her  eager  way 
she  asked  him  questions,  he  tried  to  explain,  and  to 
make  as  clear  to  her  as  they  appeared  to  him,  some 
of  the  profound  simpHcities  in  the  world  of  natiire 
which  surrounded  them.  He  was  a  poet,  a  dreamer, 
something  of  a  mystic;  but  his  philosophy  was  beau- 
tiful in  her  eyes.  Standing  with  his  hands  clasped 
behind  his  back,  and  his  fine  head  drooped,  he  gazed 
down  at  the  clump  of  modest,  sweet-smelling  flowers 
which  Angela  had  sought  to  rescue  from  their 
obscurity. 

"The  law  of  unselfishness,"  he  murmured  dreamily. 
"Not  to  live  for  the  individual,  but  for  the  Divine 
whole:  that  is  the  will  of  God."  He  raised  his  eyes, 
luminous  and  far-seeing,  and  fixed  them  on  his  lis- 
tener's face.  "Every  tree,  and  plant,  and  humble 
flower,  teaches  us  the  lesson  of  Nature's  generosity  to 
God — giving  in  prolific  generosity,  in  places  unseen  by 
the  human  eye,  maybe,  blooming  for  Him  alone. 
Year  after  year,  season  succeeding  season,  the  sap  of 
life  returns  ungrudgingly  to  the  hand  which  takes 
from  it  its  richest  gifts." 

Angela  listened  with  a  feeling  of  awe  to  the  words 
which  fell  with  such  simple  reverence  from  the  old 
man's  lips. 

"Will  you  say  that  first  bit  again?"  she  asked, 
"the  bit  about  unselfishness." 

"The  law  of  unselfishness.  Not  to  live  for  the  in- 
dividual, but  for  the  Divine  whole:  that  is  the  will  of 
God,"  he  repeated  slowly. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said. 

She  walked  with  hirn  to  the  gate  and  a  little  way 


The  Light  on  Burying  Island     315 

along  the  road,  for  his  companionship  was  grateful  to 
her;  and  at  parting  he  murmured  a  blessing,  which 
touched  her  by  its  fervent  sincerity.  But  as  she 
returned,  it  was  not  the  blessing  which  remained  with 
her.  It  was  something  which  made  her  feel  restless 
and  dissatisfied  with  herself — a  something  put  into 
words,  which  had  prompted  her  to  that  outburst  of 
mistrustfulness  the  afternoon  before,  when  she  had 
sat  with  Jock  under  the  cherry  tree;  and  which 
had  hurt  her  like  a  sharp  stab  of  pain,  when  he  had 
said,  after  he  had  heard  of  Alister's  return,  "I  never 
ought  to  have  deserted  him.  I  have  failed  in  my 
trust." 

She  returned  to  her  seat  and  sat  down. 

"The  law  of  unselfishness.  Not  to  live  for  the  in- 
dividual, but  for  the  Divine  whole:  that  is  the  will  of 
God,"  she  repeated. 

"I  am  living  for  the  individual.  I  am  making  an 
idol  of  my  love  for  Jock.  I  have  clutched  greedily 
at  happiness.  I  have  sacrificed  everything  to  hold 
him  to  me.  I  would  not  share  him,  not  one  bit  of 
him,  with  any  one  or  anything.  I  have  set  love  up 
before  everything  else.  I  would  not  let  his  eyes  be 
opened  to  see  anything  but  me,  and  I  have  used  the 
temptation  of  myself  to  make  him  fail  in  his  duty. 
Mine  has  not  been  true  love.  It  has  been  a  small, 
ungenerous,  miserable  little  thing.  It  is  not  worth 
the  name  of  love." 

With  a  gesture  of  abandonment  she  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands,  and  sat  shrinking  into  herself. 

"I  was  as  hard  as  a  stone  with  him  about  Alister. 
I  resented  his  loyalty.  I  grudged  the  smallest  scrap 
of  love  being  given  to  any  one  but  myself.     It  is  not 


3i6  Bawbee  Jock 

a  bit  of  credit  to  me  that  I  would  die  for  him,  because 
it  is  all  me.     He  is  me!" 

She  sobbed  vmrestrainedly,  and  Dileas  came  and  laid 
his  paw  on  her  lap,  and  she  threw  her  arms  round  his 
neck  and  found  some  consolation  in  the  touch  of  his 
hard,  wiry  coat. 

"My  one  comfort  is  that  I  did  not  keep  him  from 
going.  I  sent  him — I  made  him  go,  Dileas,  did  n't 
I?"    • 

And  Dileas  lifted  the  other  paw  and  laid  it  on  her 
arm,  and  gave  a  sighing  groan,  and  looked  his  unutter- 
able sympathy. 

That  night  her  dreams  were  more  troublous  than 
they  had  been  the  night  before.  The  window-ctu*tains 
were  not  drawn,  and  a  faint  grey  light  illumined  the 
room,  and  the  black  carved  pillars  of  the  great  bed 
seemed  to  stand  out  from  the  greyness  like  avenging 
ghosts.  Before  the  dawn  broke  she  could  stand 
them  no  longer,  and,  rising,  she  drew  every  curtain 
close  and  shut  out  every  chink  of  light,  and  in  the  hot 
stuffiness  of  darkness  she  tried  to  sleep,  but  only 
managed  to  capture  a  few  fitful  snatches  of  rest- 
less unconsciousness. 

The  next  morning  some  of  her  natural  buoyancy 
returned  to  her.  She  would  get  a  letter  from  Jock  by 
the  evening's  post.  That  was  something  to  live  for. 
She  busied  herself  about  the  house  with  feverish 
energy ;  she  sewed  fitfully  at  intervals  and  watched  the 
clock;  but  long  before  it  was  time  for  the  post-bag  to 
arrive  she  went  out  on  to  the  moor  at  the  back  of  the 
garden,  and,  finding  a  place  from  where  she  could 
command  an  uninterrupted  view  of  the  road,  she  sat 
down  to  wait. 


The  Light  on  Burying  Island      317 

She  had  not  been  there  for  long  before  she  noticed 
that  Hamish  and  Donald  were  standing  together  at 
the  corner  of  a  field  almost  immediately  below  where 
she  was  sitting.  Their  heads  were  close  together, 
and  they  looked  as  though  they  might  be  hatching  a 
conspiracy. 

Presently  Hamish  moved  away,  but  Donald  re- 
mained. He  hovered  about,  glancing  every  now  and 
then  in  the  direction  of  where  Angela  was  sitting,  until 
his  manner  attracted  her  attention,  and  she  rose  and 
went  down  the  bank  to  speak  to  him. 

He  dragged  ofE  his  bonnet  and  sidled  up  to  her. 
It  was  evident  that  he  had  something  on  his  mind, 
and  she  gave  him  the  opportunity  of  unburdening  it. 

"What  is  it,  Donald?"  she  said.  "You  and  Ha- 
mish were  talking  about  something.  Can  I  help  you? 
The  master  is  away,  you  know ;  but  if  there  is  anything 
you  want " 

Donald  plucked  at  his  bonnet  and  fixed  his  eyes  on 
her  face.  There  was  a  queer  glow  in  them,  which  gave 
her  a  feeling  of  uncanniness. 

"  It  will  be  of  the  light  that  we  was  talking,"  he  said. 

"What  light?"  asked  Angela. 

"It  will  be  the  light  on  the  island.  It  will  be 
Hamish  himself  that  has  been  seeing  the  light." 

Donald  looked  over  his  shoulder  and  pointed,  and 
Angela  saw  that  he  pointed  in  the  direction  of  the 
Burying  Island. 

"When — did  you  see  the  light? "  she  asked  haltingly. 

Donald  sidled  a  little  nearer  to  her. 

"It  would  be  last  night  at  the  darkening  that  Ha- 
mish did  see  the  light  on  the  island ;  and  the  word  has 
gone  round  that  there  will  be  death  to  Glenmoira." 


3i8  Bawbee  Jock 

Angela  shivered,  although  the  evening  was  so 
warm. 

"  Does  it  always  come  true?  "  she  asked. 

"It  was  myself  that  did  once  see  the  light,"  said 
Donald,  in  a  mysterious  whisper.  "I  would  be  row- 
ing in  a  poat,  and  there  would  be  anither  man  in  the 
poat,  behint  meself ;  and  we  did  both  see  the  light,  and 
we  was  afraid;  and  it  would  be  that  same  night  that 
our  chief  himself  lay  dead  in  Glenmoira."  Donald 
pointed  again  over  his  shoulder.  "It  is  many  times 
that  the  Hght  has  been  seen.  I  could  be  telling  you 
of " 

Angela  stepped  back. 

"Oh,  please  don't  tell  me  any  more  just  now.  I — 
Good-night,  Donald,"  she  concluded  abruptly;  and, 
turning,  she  went  quickly  up  the  bank  to  the  gate 
which  led  into  the  garden,  and  did  not  pause  until  she 
found  herself  in  the  house,  with  familiar  objects 
round  her  again.  She  sank  down  on  a  chair,  feeling 
weak  and  unstrung,  and  as  if  the  smallest  incident 
would  strain  her  nerves  beyond  her  control. 

The  evening  wore  on,  but  no  post-bag  arrived. 
All  day  long  she  had  been  buoyed  up  with  the  certainty 
that  she  would  receive  a  letter  from  Jock.  He  would 
not  fail  her;  he  could  not.  Into  the  blankness  of  the 
unseen  he  had  gone;  but  he  was  somewhere.  He 
would  send  her  a  message  out  of  the  void  of  space 
which  had  swallowed  him  up: 

Nine  o'clock  struck,  and  she  could  not  stand  the 
loneliness  any  longer;  she  sought  refuge  with  Sheila, 
who  was  sitting  by  the  back  door  knitting.  Sheila's 
comfort  was  very  practical. 

"It  will  be  because  of  the  shootings  that  the  train 


The  Light  on  Burying  Island     319 

will  be  late,"  she  said,  rising  and  Differing  Angela  her 
chair.  "To-morrow  will  be  the  beginning  of  the 
shooting,  and  this  will  be  a  very  busy  day  for  the 
trains  whatever." 

"I  forgot  that  to-morrow  is  the  twelfth,"  said 
Angela ;  and  she  made  Sheila  bring  another  chair,  and 
they  sat  together  in  the  dusk  and  talked  in  low,  sub- 
dued voices  until  the  stars  came  out. 

Angela  had  almost  given  up  hope  of  her  longed-for 
letter,  when  she  heard,  far  away  across  the  moor,  the 
faint  sound  of  wheels.  It  was  the  post-gig,  and  when 
the  bag  was  brought  to  her,  her  fingers  trembled  so 
that  she  could  hardly  turn  the  key  in  the  lock;  and 
when  she  shook  out  the  letters,  Jock's  was  the  last  to 
fall  into  her  lap. 

She  held  it,  devoiiring  it  with  her  eyes  before  she 
opened  it.  She  had  never  received  a  love-letter  from 
him.     His  first  letter  was  to  his  wife. 

She  read  it  slowly,  dwelling  on  every  word.  Love 
for  her  breathed  through  it,  but  it  was  a  very  sad 
letter. 

Alister  was  dead.  Jock  had  arrived  in  time  to  see 
him  before  he  died,  and  he  had  been  conscious  and 
known  him.  There  had  been  a  few  hours  of  reunion, 
when  the  weak,  erring  brother  had  leant  for  the  last 
time  on  the  love  which  he  had  taxed  to  the  uttermost, 
which  from  infancy  had  been  his  strength. 

"But  I  failed  him  at  the  end.  He  was  not  the  sort 
to  cast  adrift,"  wrote  Jock.  "He  did  not  reproach 
me;  he  did  not  seem  to  remember.  I  found  him  as 
weak  and  helpless  as  a  child,  and  he  knew  that  he  was 
dying.  He  did  not  seem  to  want  anything  but  that  I 
should  stay  with  him.     He  seemed  to  have  forgotten 


320  Bawbee  Jock 

these  last  years  of  separation;  he  always  harked  back 
to  the  days  when  we  were  boys  together.  The  last 
words  he  said  were: 

'"Give  me  your  hand,  Jock,  to  help  me  across';  and 
then  he  gave  a  kind  of  laugh  and  said,  '  What  a  grip 
you  've  got!     I  'm  never  afraid  you  '11  let  go.* 

"  I  did  let  go.  He  did  not  mean  it  for  reproach.  I 
think  his  mind  was  running  on  something  in  the  old 
days,  when  we  had  been  out  together,  and  I  had  given 
him  a  helping  hand. 

"  He  was  just  a  wreck,  and  he  had  n't  a  penny  in  his 
pocket.  The  only  thing  he  had  n't  parted  with  was 
his  tartan  plaid.  He  asked  me  to  bury  him  at  Glen- 
moira,  and  he  said,  '  When  you  row  me  up  the  loch, 
Jock,  wrap  me  in  my  plaid.  I  've  been  a  bad  lot; 
but  I  've  never  sold  the  tartan.'  " 

Angela's  tears  were  falling  so  fast  that  she  could 
hardly  see  to  read  the  last  few  words.  They  were 
loving  words  to  herself.  She  was  to  remember  how 
precious  she  was  to  him,  and  to  take  care  of  herself, 
and  he  hoped  to  be  with  her  again  very  soon.  He 
would  have  to  make  arrangements  about  the  carrying 
out  of  Alister's  wish  to  be  buried  at  Glenmoira,  but 
he  would  not  delay  his  retiirn  a  moment  longer  than 
necessary. 

"I  can't  say  for  certain  when  I  shall  be  back,  but  I 
shall  send  you  a  wire  when  I  know,"  was  added  in  a 
postscript  at  the  end. 

Angela  slept  with  her  letter  under  her  pillow  that 
night,  and  kissed  it  at  intervals  during  the  night 
watches. 

"  Perhaps  I  will  see  him  to-day,"  was  her  first  wak- 
ing thought;  and  shortly  after  she  had  finished  her 


The  Light  on  Burying  Island      321 

breakfast,  Sheila  appeared  with  a  telegram.  She  tore 
it  open. 

"Expect  me  to-morrow  evening  by  post-gig." 

To-morrow  evening!  She  re-read  the  telegram. 
It  had  been  sent  off  the  night  before.  It  was  to-day 
that  he  was  coming. 

Her  heart  felt  as  if  it  woxild  bound  out  of  her  bosom. 
The  few  bald  words  on  that  slip  of  pink  paper  filled 
her  with  a  rapture  of  joy,  and  for  the  rest  of  the  day 
she  went  about  the  house  with  a  glad  singing  in  her 
heart,  but  chiding  herself  at  intervals. 

"Poor  Alister!  I  ought  to  be  mourning  for  him; 
but  then  I  never  knew  him.  I  can  only  mourn  for 
him  because  of  Jock." 

She  saw  Donald  and  Hamish  in  the  field  again  that 
afternoon  with  their  heads  close  together,  talking 
mysteriously;  but  she  did  not  go  near  them. 

"It  was  very  strange  about  the  light,"  she  said  to 
herself  several  times.  "  It  must  have  been  for  Alister." 
And  whenever  she  looked  across  the  loch  to  the  bend 
where  it  swept  round  towards  the  Burying  Island,  she 
felt  a  little  frightened. 

Dinner-time  came,  but  no  post-gig. 

"Will  the  trains  be  very  late  again  to-night?"  she 
asked  Sheila  anxiously. 

"  Maybe  they  will,"  answered  Sheila.  "Will  you  be 
waiting  dinner  for  the  master?"  she  asked  presently. 

"Of  course  I  shall,"  answered  Angela.  The  ques- 
tion seemed  absurd. 

But  the  dinner-hour  passed,  and  there  was  no  sound 
of  welcome  wheels.  Sheila  with  gentle  persistence 
tried  to  persuade  her  to  eat. 

"The  master  would  not  be  pleased  that  you  wait  too 


322  Bawbee  Jock 

long,"  she  pleaded;  and  Angela  drank  the  cup  of  soup 
brought  to  her,  but  would  eat  nothing. 

Ten  o'clock  struck,  and  she  was  still  hoping  against 
hope.  She  could  not  sit  still;  she  wandered  in  and 
out  of  the  rooms,  and,  hearing  voices  in  the  kitchen, 
she  opened  the  door  and  looked  in. 

Donald  and  Hamish  and  a  strange  man  she  had 
never  seen  before  were  talking  to  Sheila  at  the  window. 
The  strange  man  was  tall  and  dark,  with  a  pale  face 
and  a  black  beard.  To  her  excited  imagination  there 
was  something  sinister  in  his  appearance. 

"Sheila!"  she  called. 

And  Sheila  turned,  and  catching  sight  of  her  mis- 
tress's white  face,  she  made  a  sign  to  the  men  to  go 
away. 

"What  were  they  talking  about?  Has  there  been 
an  accident  to  the  train?"  demanded  Angela. 

"There  has  been  no  accident — no  accident  what- 
ever," answered  Sheila;  and  the  calmness  of  her  tone 
and  her  gentle  manner  were  reassuring. 

But  Angela  persisted: 

"  Who  was  that  strange  man?  What  was  he  saying 
to  Donald  and  Hamish?     He  looked  so  odd." 

"It  will  be  Black  Dougal,"  answered  Sheila.  "He 
has  not  quite  all  the  senses  of  a  man,  but  it  is  himself 
that  gets  the  news  before  any  one  else  in  the  glen.  It 
was  of  the  train  that  he  was  telling  us.  It  will  not 
arrive  to-night,  because  it  is  too  heavy  for  the  hills. 
There  has  been  no  accident,  but  it  will  be  many  hours 
late.  There  has  been  no  accident,"  she  repeated  with 
quiet  confidence. 

Angela's  eyes  searched  Sheila's  face. 

"You  are  really  telling  the  truth,  Sheila?" 


The  Light  on  Burying  Island      323 

Sheila  answered  that  she  was  telling  the  truth,  and 
by  dint  of  gentle  persuasion  she  contrived  to  make  her 
mistress  eat  something. 

"  It  will  be  better  for  you  to  eat,  for  maybe  it  will  not 
be  until  the  morning  that  the  master  will  come,"  she 
pleaded. 

Angela  consented  to  eat,  but  she  refused  to  go  to 
bed. 

"Not  just  yet.  You  go,  Sheila,  for  you  must  have 
your  rest.  But  I  shall  wait  up  a  little  while  longer; 
and  Dileas  is  with  me,  so  I  shall  be  all  right. " 

Sheila  was  too  wise  to  protest.  She  went  away,  but 
not  to  sleep.  And  Angela,  after  she  had  gone,  sat  for 
a  long  time  by  the  open  window. 

It  was  a  hot,  sultry  night  with  thunder  brooding  in 
the  air.  She  had  no  reason  to  doubt  Sheila's  words, 
but  a  great  load  of  oppression  was  weighing  upon  her 
spirits.  Her  nerves  had  been  kept  on  the  strain  for 
the  last  four  days;  she  had  slept  very  little  and  that 
only  in  feverish  snatches,  and  her  imagination  had 
been  feeding  on  one  continuous  theme,  and  that  was 
— herself. 

She  rested  her  head  against  the  side  of  the  window. 
It  was  hard,  but  cool  to  the  touch. 

"If  something  were  to  happen!"  she  murmured  to 
herself.  "  If  — I  could  never  tell  him — never  hear  him 
say  that  he  forgave  me!"  The  words  seemed  to  be 
beating  time  to  the  throbbing  pain  in  her  temples. 

Presently  she  roused  herself,  and  crept  stealthily 
out  to  the  front  door,  afraid  that  her  step  might 
waken  Sheila.  The  night  was  absolutely  still,  not  a 
leaf  stirred.  The  jessamine  above  the  porch  gave  out 
a  strong  pungent  scent;  the  plaintive  cry  of  a  wild 


324  Bawbee  Jock 

bird  rose  from  the  reeds  by  the  side  of  the  loch.  She 
returned  to  the  house,  and  to  the  window  where  she  had 
been  sitting  before,  and  stood  irresolute  until  her  eyes 
rested  on  Jock's  writing-table.  Something  seemed  to 
flash  an  intmtive  message  to  her  brain.  She  acted 
quickly  on  impulse,  and  the  next  minute  found  her 
seated  in  Jock's  chair  before  the  writing-table,  with  a 
sheet  of  paper  spread  out  before  her  and  a  pen  in  her 
hand.  She  dipped  the  pen  in  the  ink  and  began  to 
write,  hesitatingly  at  first,  then  more  surely,  as  she 
bent  to  her  task. 

She  wrote  so  rapidly  that  she  covered  the  four  sides 
of  the  paper  in  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time.  The 
tears  were  running  down  her  cheeks,  but  she  never 
paused  to  wipe  them  away;  and  she  took  another  sheet 
of  paper  out  of  the  stand  in  front  of  her  and  went  on 
writing.  Then  she  threw  down  her  pen  and  gave  a 
deep,  sighing  sob,  and  taking  out  her  pocket- 
handkerchief,  dried  her  wet  cheeks. 

"What  a  relief!"  she  said  under  her  breath,  "I 
hope  he  '11  never  read  it;  but  oh,  what  a  relief  it  is  to 
have  got  it  off  my  conscience!" 

She  sat  for  a  moment  or  two  thinking.  Then  she 
lifted  the  lid  of  her  work-basket  and  unbuttoned  one  of 
the  pockets  which  lined  the  sides.  It  was  the  one  where 
she  had  hidden  her  handkerchief  with  the  money  she 
had  stolen  from  Jock  to  buy  him  a  Christmas  present. 

The  little  bundle  had  lain  there  ever  since.  She 
imited  the  knotted  ends  of  the  handkerchief,  and 
folding  up  the  sheets  of  paper  into  a  tight  packet,  she 
thrust  them  in  amongst  the  jingling  coins;  and  knot- 
ting up  the  handkerchief  again,  she  put  it  back  in  its 
hiding-place. 


The  Light  on  Burying  Island      325 

"What  a  relief!"  she  repeated.  "Whether  it's 
useless  or  not,  I  feel  happier  for  having  done  it.  I 
believe  I  could  go  to  sleep  now,  and  not  dream 
horrors." 

She  glanced  at  the  clock.  It  was  close  on  midnight, 
and  she  shut  the  window  and  drew  down  the  blind. 

She  carried  the  lamp  into  the  hall,  where  Dileas  was 
lying  on  the  deerskin  rug  in  front  of  the  fireplace,  and 
set  it  down  on  the  table.  The  hall  door  stood  open, 
and  she  closed  it,  but  did  not  tiu-n  the  key  in  the  lock. 

"He  might  come  back  sooner  than  we  hope,"  she 
said  to  the  old  hound,  who  was  watching  her  move- 
ments. She  lowered  the  lamp  and  patted  the  dog's 
head.  "I  'm  going  to  bed,  Dileas.  I  'm  very,  very 
tired,  and  you  are  to  watch  for  him."  She  lighted 
her  candle  and  began  slowly  to  mount  the  steep 
corkscrew  stair.  The  candle-light  threw  her  shadow 
on  the  wall,  and  she  paused  and  spoke  to  it.  "Poor 
little  shadow!  You 're  very  lonely.  It 's  very  lonely 
being  only  half  a  shadow,  isn't  it?"  And  with  a 
sigh  she  continued  her  way. 

In  her  room  she  drew  the  curtains  across  the  window 
and  left  the  door  open  for  air. 

"  I  can't  stand  you  making  faces  at  me,"  she  said  to 
the  carved  bedposts ;  and  hardly  had  her  head  touched 
the  pillow  before  she  fell  asleep. 

Her  sleep  at  first  was  the  sleep  of  exhaustion,  and 
then  her  brain  began  to  work  and  she  dreamt.  Her 
dream  was  a  jumbled  tissue  of  inconsequences ;  but  the 
events  of  the  past  few  days  were  woven  into  it.  The 
guiding  wheel  of  balance  slumbered;  the  demon  of 
unbridled  imagination  ruled  supreme. 

She  was  in  a  boat  on  the  loch,  and  she  was  trying  to 


326  Bawbee  Jock 

fly  from  the  light  on  the  island,  and  the  boat  would  not 
move;  and  the  man  who  was  rowing  it  was  Black 
Dougal — a  harmless  creatiire  in  reality,  but  in  her 
dream  he  was  a  phantom  endowed  with  a  malignant 
personaUty. 

"Row! — row  faster!"  she  cried.  "Take  me  away 
from  the  light;  I  am  frightened." 

But  the  phantom  only  fixed  her  with  his  glassy  eyes, 
and  his  oars  did  not  seem  to  stir  a  ripple  on  the  dark 
surface  of  the  water.  She  looked  back  fearfully,  and 
she  saw  that  the  light  was  following.  It  was  dancing 
and  flickering:  now  it  was  close  behind  her — now  it 
was  touching  her  shoulder. 

With  a  cry  of  terror  on  her  lips  she  awoke. 

"Jock!    Save  me!" 

A  lamp,  which  had  been  shaded  by  a  guarding  hand, 
was  put  hastily  down. 

"My  darling!"  rang  out  a  voice  in  answer  to  her 
cry;  and  she  was  in  the  shelter  of  Jock's  arms,  sobbing 
out  her  terror  in  a  wild  incoherence  of  love  and  glad- 
ness on  his  breast. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE   LAST    SOLEMNITIES 

JOCK'S  explanation  as  to  how  he  came  to  return 
home  in  the  middle  of  the  night  was  very  simple. 
Black  Dougal's  story  turned  out  to  have  been  correct. 
The  engine  of  the  train  had  broken  down  on  a  steep 
gradient  and  its  passengers  were  stranded  at  a  way- 
side station  until  a  fresh  engine  could  be  procured  from 
the  distant  junction. 

But  Jock  had  not  waited  for  the  relief  engine.  He 
had  started  to  walk  across  the  hills  to  Glenmoira.  It 
was  not  so  very  far  in  a  direct  line,  and  to  any  one  who 
knew  the  country  as  well  as  he  did,  there  were  no 
impossibihties  in  the  way. 

During  the  day  which  followed  his  return,  there 
was  something  pathetic  in  Angela's  eagerness  to  enter 
into  his  feelings,  her  endeavours  to  comfort  him  and 
care  for  him.  It  grieved  her  bitterly  to  see  how  tired 
and  downcast  he  looked. 

"I  've  hardly  had  my  clothes  off  since  I  left.  I 
have  n't  had  much  sleep,"  he  explained.  "It  worried 
me  to  think  of  you  being  here  alone,  and  I  went  straight 
through  with  what  I  had  to  do,  and  took  the  first 
train  back.  I  '11  feel  better  after — it 's  all  over,"  he 
concluded;  and  Angela  knew  what  he  meant.  Until 
Alister  was  laid  to  rest,  he  would  not  be  altogether  her 

327 


328  Bawbee  Jock 

own  again.  But  she  was  not  resentful;  she  was  only 
full  of  a  great  pity  and  love  for  him,  a  deep  yearning  to 
make  him  feel  that  she  knew  and  understood  and 
sympathised  with  his  sorrow. 

"I  want  it  to  be  very  qmet  and  simple,"  Jock  said, 
when  telling  her  of  how  he  had  arranged  for  Alister's 
funeral  to  take  place.  "  It 's  not  necessary  to  ask  any 
one  from  outside.  I  would  like  our  own  people  in 
Glenmoira  to  do  all  that  has  to  be  done  for  him." 

A  sultry  gloom  hung  over  the  glen  the  day  of 
Alister's  funeral.  The  loch  appeared  to  have  no  life 
in  it;  its  surface  was  a  dull  grey,  and  not  a  breath  of 
air  stirred  the  foHage  of  the  weeping  birches  which 
fringed  its  banks.  The  ferns  seemed  to  trail  their 
fronds  with  mournful  significance  in  the  leaden- 
coloured  water;  no  song  of  bird  broke  the  stillness: 
all  was  quiet  and  brooding. 

Angela  was  sitting  in  the  hall  in  semi-darkness,  for 
Sheila  had  drawn  the  blinds.  Her  hands  were  folded 
on  her  lap  and  she  was  listening  to  Jock  moving  about 
in  the  room  above. 

The  sad  little  procession  was  to  start  from  the 
landing-stage  at  twelve  o'clock.  The  coffin  had  been 
brought  over  the  hill  from  the  distant  station  the  night 
before,  and  had  lain  during  the  short  hours  of  darkness 
in  the  old  boat-house  by  the  loch-side. 

It  rested  on  trestles,  and  was  almost  covered  with 
flowers — simple  cottage  flowers,  the  majority  of  them ; 
and  some  loving  hands  who  remembered  the  dead  man 
only  as  a  sunny-haired  boy  had  lined  the  sides  of  the 
rough  shed  with  heather.  All  the  morning,  since  day- 
break, a  continuous  stream  of  humble  mourners  had 
passed  in  and  out,  and  each  had  brought  some  offering 


The  Last  Solemnities  329 

of  love  and  respect.  Little  of  the  latter  years  of 
Alister's  life  was  known  to  these  simple  people. 
Death,  like  a  disarming  foe,  deals  kindly  with  the 
memory  of  the  weak  and  erring.  It  is  an  evil  tongue 
which  seeks  to  slander  the  sacredness  of  the  dead,  and 
there  was  nothing  recalled  of  Alister  Mackenzie's  life 
but  what  had  been  good,  and  no  words  spoken  but 
those  of  love. 

When  Jock  came  down-stairs  he  found  Angela  still 
sitting  in  the  semi-darkness  of  the  hall. 

"Can  you  do  something  for  me?"  he  asked.  He 
touched  his  black  tie.  "This  is  n't  right.  I  had  to 
cut  it,  and  the  end  wants  stitching." 

She  rose  quickly,  and  fetched  a  needle  and  thread. 

"It's  so  dark  you  can't  see."  And  he  held  the 
blind  a  little  back  for  her. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  after  she  had  finished;  but  he 
drew  her  closer  to  the  light  and  looked  down  at  her. 
"You  have  tired  yourself,"  he  said.  "You  ought  not 
to  have  stood  about  making  that  wreath.  It  was 
beautiful,  and  it  was  sweet  of  you  to  think  of  putting 
in  that  bit  of  holly  from  the  old  arch.  He  's  passed 
under  it  many  a  time." 

"I  am  glad  that  pleased  you,"  she  said. 

"But  you  have  tired  yourself,"  he  repeated.  He 
touched  her  cheek.  "You  have  been  looking  like  a 
ghost  since  I  came  back.  Did  you  fret  when  I  was 
away?     You  promised  not  to." 

"It  was  stupid  of  me,  but  I  could  not  help  it,"  she 
answered. 

"After  to-day  I  shall  have  time  to  take  more  care 
of  you,"  he  said. 

"But  it  is  I  who  ought  to  comfort  you,"  she  an- 


330  Bawbee  Jock 

swered  wistfully.  "  I  do  want  to  comfort  you,  Jock. 
You  know  that,  don't  you?  I  was  not  as  kind  as  I 
ought  to  have  been  about — Alister." 

"You  have  never  been  anything  but  kind  to  me," 
he  answered,  and  he  kissed  her.  "I  must  go  now. 
Don't  stay  in  here  in  the  dark.  It  looks  so  dreary, 
and  it  does  no  good.  Go  and  sit  in  the  garden.  I 
have  taken  out  your  chair,  and  Sheila  will  be  near  if 
you  want  anything." 

He  kissed  her  again,  and  told  Dileas,  who  was  pre- 
pared to  follow  him,  that  he  was  to  stay  behind  and 
take  care  of  his  mistress. 

Angela  put  her  hand  on  the  dog's  collar. 

"He  knows,"  she  said.  "When  you  speak  to  him 
like  that,  he  never  leaves  me." 

She  watched  Jock  out  of  sight,  and  Dileas  followed 
her  into  the  garden.  Everything  looked  dull  and 
listless.  The  flowers  were  drooping  their  heads  in  the 
sultry  air;  the  same  brooding  stillness  which  himg  over 
the  loch  brooded  here  also. 

She  did  not  go  to  her  favourite  haunt  under  the 
cherry  tree,  but  turned  into  a  side-path,  and  in  a  quiet 
corner  she  found  Sheila. 

Shelia  rose  from  the  bench  on  which  she  was  sitting 
and  curtseyed  apologetically. 

"It  is  waiting  for  the  poats  that  I  was,"  she  ex- 
plained; and  Angela  saw  that  there  were  tears  in  her 
soft  dark  eyes. 

"Don't  go  away,  Sheila.  Let  us  watch  together," 
she  said,  seating  herself  on  the  bench.  "The  master 
said  I  was  not  to  stay  in  the  house;  and  I  feel  very 
lonely." 

For  some  time  they  sat  and  talked.     Angela  en- 


The  Last  Solemnities  331 

couraged  Sheila  to  speak  of  Alister.  The  little  High- 
land woman's  love  for  her  master — her  chief — was  a 
thing  apart,  an  unquestioned  fealty;  but  she  had  loved 
the  younger  brother  also.  She  described  him  as  she 
remembered  him.  He  had  been  such  a  handsome, 
graceful  boy,  the  idol  of  his  mother,  the  spoilt  darling 
of  the  household,  from  his  cradle  upwards  claiming  so 
much  more  than  his  share;  and  Angela,  who  could 
read  between  the  lines,  saw  how  Jock  had  never 
grudged  him  his  beauty  and  his  popularity. 

Suddenly  Angela  raised  her  head  and  exclaimed: 

"Sheila!  what  is  that?" 

A  mournftd  wail,  like  the  sound  of  a  spirit  in  pain, 
had  broken  the  heavy  stillness  of  the  air. 

"It  will  be  the  pipes  playing  the  Lament,"  said 
Sheila. 

"The  Lament!"  echoed  Angela,  in  an  awestruck 
voice. 

"It  will  be  that  they  have  put  the  coflBn  in  the 
poat,"  explained  Sheila. 

The  wail  lengthened;  a  long-drawn-out  plaint  of 
sadness  floated  to  them  across  the  water. 

"It's  dreadfully  mournful.  Is  it  always  like 
that?  Do  they  play  that  at  all  the  funerals  ?"  asked 
Angela. 

"  It  will  be  the  Lament  of  the  Clan.  It  is  a  beautiful 
Lament.  The  name  of  it  will  be  Cumha  Thigearna 
GhecLrrloch.'" 

Angela  moved  nearer  to  Sheila. 

"  It 's  so  dreadfully  sad.  It  seems  to  pierce  through 
everything.  Will  they  play  that  all  the  way  to  the 
Burying  Island,  and  all  the  way  back  again?"  she 
asked. 


332  Bawbee  Jock 

"It  will  not  be  the  same  Lament  that  they  will  be 
playing  all  the  time,"  answered  Sheila.  "There  are 
many  beautiful  Laments.  It  will  be  '  The  Flowers  of 
the  Forest'  that  they  will  be  playing  when  the  poats 
is  coming  back  from  the  burying." 

"The  Flowers  of  the  Forest.'  I  have  heard  of 
that,"  said  Angela.  "It 's  such  a  pretty  name;  but 
I  expect  it 's  dreadfully  sad,  too.  I  suppose  a  Lament 
must  be  sad;  it  would  n't  be  a  Lament  if  it  was  not." 
Her  attitude  changed.  She  leant  forward  and  pointed. 
"Look!  There!  Just  showing  round  the  point — that 
black  thing!" 

"It  will  be  the  peat  with  the  coflSn,"  whispered 
Sheila. 

Slowly,  round  the  curve  of  the  wooded  knoll,  a  boat 
glided  into  view.  It  was  black  and  broad-beamed, 
and  hung  low  in  the  water,  and  was  rowed  by  four  of 
the  Glenmoira  men.  It  was  bearing  the  body  of 
Alister  Mackenzie  to  its  last  resting-place. 

"When  you  row  me  up  the  loch,  Jock,  wrap  me  in 
my  plaid." 

That  had  been  his  last  request.  The  plaid  was 
wrapped  round  his  coffin;  but  almost  hiding  the  tartan 
were  flowers — flowers  pure  and  white,  mute  symbols  of 
forgiveness  and  of  sins  washed  clean. 

"How  beautiful!"  murmured  Angela.  "When  I 
die,  I  should  like  to  be  put  in  a  boat  like  that,  and 
covered  with  flowers  and  rowed  over  the  water." 

Following  the  first  boat,  in  a  dark,  winding  line, 
came  a  procession  of  smaller  boats.  In  the  first  one 
Angela  could  recognise  Jock  and  old  Mr.  MacPherson 
and  the  tall,  spare  figure  of  Doctor  Angus, 

"Where  do  these  boats   come  from?"  she  asked 


The  Last  Solemnities  333 

Sheila.     " They  are  all  black;  I  never  saw  them  on  the 
loch  before." 

"It  will  be  only  for  the  buryings  that  the  black 
poats  will  be  used,"  answered  Sheila. 

The  dark  line  had  now  swept  out  into  the  middle  of 
the  loch,  and  the  figures  gradually  grew  blurred  and 
indistinct.  The  sad  wail  of  the  Lament  was  borne 
back  to  the  listeners — sadder  and  more  plaintive  as  it 
softened  in  the  distance. 

Then  the  leading  boat,  like  a  great  black  bird, 
seemed  to  spread  its  wings  and  disappear  into  space. 
It  had  vanished  from  sight  up  the  arm  of  the  loch 
toward  the  Burying  Island ;  and  one  by  one  the  other 
boats  following  it  vanished  in  their  turn. 

An  eerie  sensation  of  blankness  fell  on  the  wide 
stretch  of  grey  water.  It  was  as  though  a  ghostly 
procession  had  passed  before  the  face  of  a  mirror 
and  thrown  its  reflection  across  its  surface,  and  then 
melted  into  the  void  of  the  unknown. 

"It  hardly  seemed  real,"  said  Angela.  "How  long 
will  it  be  before  the  boats  come  back  again?"  she 
asked. 

"  It  will  be  an  hour  maybe,  or  maybe  it  will  be  more 
than  an  hour."  Sheila  looked  at  her  mistress,  and 
said  gently,  "I  am  thinking  that  it  is  resting  that  you 
ought  to  be,  mem." 

"I  can't  rest  in  the  house,"  said  Angela.  "I  shall 
go  up  to  the  top  of  the  garden  and  sit  under  the  cherry 
tree." 

Sheila  went  with  her  and  arranged  her  cushions 
comfortably,  and  then  returned  to  the  house.  She 
was  within  call  if  she  was  wanted. 

Angela  tried  to  rest,  but  coxild  not.     She  was  tired, 


334  Bawbee  Jock 

with  a  tiredness  which  made  her  nervous  and  appre- 
hensive. She  controlled  her  restlessness  as  well  as 
she  could,  talking  to  Dileas,  who  lay  at  her  feet. 

"I  wonder  how  much  longer  it  will  be  before  the 
boats  come  back.  We  can't  see  them  properly  from 
here,  can  we?"  She  gave  an  impatient  sigh.  "We 
will  go  out  on  to  the  moor,  Dileas,"  she  said.  "We 
can  get  a  better  view  from  there."  And  Dileas 
followed  her  through  the  little  wicket-gate  to  the  bank 
where  she  so  often  sat. 

She  rested  her  hand  on  the  old  hound's  head; 
Dileas  was  such  a  good  listener. 

"This  is  better,  is  n't  it?  We  shall  be  able  to  see 
them  coming  round  the  bend  of  the  loch.  Sheila 
said  an  hour  perhaps.  They  may  be  back  any  minute 
now." 

But  Dileas  was  not  so  restful  as  usual.  He  moved 
from  under  her  hand.  He  stretched  his  long,  lean 
limbs,  and  prowled  uneasily  round  her  in  a  circle. 

"What 's  the  matter?"  she  said;  and  she  tried  to 
make  him  lie  down  on  the  heather  beside  her,  but  he 
would  only  squat  on  his  haunches  and  gaze  at  her 
motunfully. 

Her  attention  had  strayed  for  a  few  moments. 
When  she  looked  again  at  the  loch,  she  saw  a  dark 
object  coming  slowly  round  the  bend  from  the  island, 
and  then  one  by  one  the  boats  reappeared.  At  the 
end  of  the  line  was  the  big,  broad-beamed  one,  which 
had  borne  Alister's  body,  returning  empty  of  its 
burden. 

"Dileas,"  she  whispered,  "they  have  left  him  be- 
hind— all  alone  on  that  sad  little  island.  I  would  n't 
like  that — to  be  left  behind," 


The  Last  Solemnities  335 

She  raised  her  head  and  listened.  Over  the  water 
came  the  melancholy  waU  of  the  pipes  again;  this 
time  they  were  playing  "  The  Flowers  of  the  Forest." 

"It 's  dreadfully,  dreadfully  sad!  It 's  like  a  great 
gathering  of  people  all  crying  together,  and  nothing 
can  comfort  them." 

She  strained  her  eyes  to  distinguish  the  figures  in 
the  leading  boat. 

Jock  and  Doctor  Angus  sat  in  the  stem,  and  two 
men  were  rowing  in  the  bow.  The  boats  would 
have  to  pass  in  front  of  the  house  on  their  way 
to  the  landing-stage,  and  she  watched  them  form 
up  into  line,  as  they  curved  out  into  the  centre  of  the 
loch. 

"Shall  we  stay  here,  Dileas?"  she  said,  "or  shall 
we  go  down  to  meet  him?  I  think  we  will  stay  here. 
He  will  know  where  to  find  us,  won't  he?" 

She  leant  forward  and  passed  her  hand  over  her 
ankle.  It  had  ached  a  little  lately  when  she  was  tired. 
She  was  wearing  her  light  indoor  shoes,  and  they 
had  high  heels. 

"He  will  scold  me  for  coming  out  on  the  moor  in 
these.  We  will  cover  them  up,"  she  said,  and  lifted 
a  fold  of  her  skirt  to  lay  over  her  feet. 

With  a  scream  she  dropped  it  again.  Curled  up  in 
the  heather,  close  beside  her,  was  a  greyish  brown, 
slimy-looking  object,  which  unwound  itself  with  a 
swift,  sinuous  movement  of  its  tail;  a  viperish  little 
head  raised  itself  and  shot  forward  with  a  quick  dart 
and  hiss. 

She  struggled  to  her  feet  and  fled.  It  was  only  a 
hundred  yards  or  so  to  the  wicket-gate,  but  the  grass 
track  was  beaten  smooth  and  slippery,  and  the  thin 


336  Bawbee  Jock 

shoes  and  the  little  unsteady  heels  were  no  support 
to  her  feet. 

A  stumble,  and  the  weak  ankle  doubled  under  her. 
She  made  a  faint  rally,  only  to  sink  on  her  knees, 
and  the  ground  seemed  to  rise  and  swallow  her  up. 
She  lay  quite  still  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  tried 
to  raise  herself.  Dileas  came  and  stood  over  her  and 
licked  her  face,  and  she  put  up  her  hand  to  keep  him 
off,  but  it  fell  back  limply.  The  sky  was  growing 
dark  above  her,  and  ever3rthing  was  rocking  and 
swaying  beneath  her. 

"Dileas,"  she  mtu-mured  through  her  white  lips, 
"call  him!     Tell  him— that  I—    Call  him,  Dileas!" 

The  words  sounded  like  a  far-away  echo  in  her  ears. 
She  tried  to  clasp  her  failing  arms  round  the  dog's 
neck,  but  a  cold,  numb  feeling  of  powerlessness  was 
creeping  over  her  limbs.  Her  voice  trailed  away  into 
nothing ;  the  cold  had  crept  up  and  touched  her  heart. 

Out  on  the  loch  the  leading  boat  was  drawing  in  to 
the  shore.  The  last  wail  of  the  pipes  had  died  away; 
there  was  no  sound  heard  but  the  monotonous  dip 
of  the  oars. 

Jock  was  steering  his  boat.  Doctor  Angus,  who  was 
sitting  beside  him,  saw  him  suddenly  throw  up  his 
head,  and  he  exclaimed  sharply: 

"What's  that?" 

Cutting  the  stillness  of  the  sultry  air,  a  bell-like  note 
floated  out  across  the  water  from  the  slope  of  the  hill 
opposite.  Again  it  rose,  fuller  and  stronger.  It  was 
the  bay  of  the  old  deerhound. 

"Dileas!     Do  you  hear?     He  's  giving  tongue!" 

Jock  sprang  to  his  feet,  making  the  boat  lurch 
perilously,  and  thrusting  the  tiller  into  Doctor  Angus's 


The  Last  Solemnities  337 

hand,  he  caught  up  a  pair  of  spare  oars,  and  slipping 
them  into  the  roUocks,  had  the  boat's  head  turned  and 
heading  in  for  the  shore  with  a  force  which  nearly 
swept  the  men  who  had  been  rowing  in  the  bow  off 
their  seats. 

A  few  minutes,  but  it  seemed  an  eternity  to  Jock 
until  the  boat's  keel  grated  and  he  sprang  out  on  to 
the  bank.  He  looked  back,  and  Doctor  Angus 
nodded. 

"Yes!    As  fast  as  I  can  follow,"  he  said. 

Dileas  had  given  tongue  again  as  the  boat  grounded, 
and  Jock  sped  on,  breasting  the  hill  with  fleet  foot  to 
the  place  where  he  knew  he  wotdd  find  her.  An 
awftil  fear  hounded  his  steps,  ran  by  his  side,  fled  on 
before  him. 

He  saw,  when  he  was  yet  some  way  off;  and  the 
stillness  of  the  figure  over  which  Dileas  was  standing 
struck  a  deadly  chill  to  his  heart.  As  he  knelt  down 
beside  her,  the  dog  pressed  up  to  him,  pleading  for 
recognition  of  what  he  had  done. 

"If  you  could  only  speak!"  groaned  Jock;  and  then 
he  saw  the  little  shoeless  foot,  and  the  tell-tale  shoe 
lying  on  the  slippery  track  and  he  knew  what  had 
happened. 

As  he  raised  her  in  his  arms  her  eyes  opened,  and  she 
looked  at  him  with  a  frightened  anguish  of  entreaty. 
Her  lips  moved,  and  a  faint  murmtu*  reached  his  ears. 

"Promise  to  forgive  me — promise — if — I  can't  tell 
you  that " 

Her  eyes  closed  again,  her  head  fell  back,  and  she 
lay  still  and  imconscious  in  his  arms. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

A  STRUGGLE  WITH  DEATH 

OVER  the  little  white  house  by  the  loch-side 
hovered  a  grey  shadow  of  doubt  and  fear. 

In  the  low-ceilinged  rooms,  so  full  of  memories, 
haunted  at  every  step  by  a  sweet  presence  and  the 
echoes  of  a  joyous  young  voice,  Jock  kept  watch;  and 
in  the  darkened  chamber  above,  his  darling  lay,  fight- 
ing the  grey  shadow. 

The  fleetest  foot  in  the  glen  had  borne  the  message 
which  had  flashed  across  the  wires  to  summon  Christina 
in  hot  haste  to  Glenmoira. 

"She  wUl  catch  the  night  mail,"  Doctor  Angus  had 
said. 

"But  will  she  come?"  Jock  had  asked  in  fear. 

"Yes,  she  will  come,"  the  doctor  had  answered 
brusquely.  But  the  brusqueness  had  been  tempered 
by  the  look  which  accompanied  the  words. 

And  Christina  had  come. 

In  the  early  morning  Jock  had  been  told  that  she 
might  yet  arrive  in  time.  The  hours  had  crawled  on 
till  noon,  and  he  had  gone  out  to  the  door  to  Hsten, 
and  in  the  distance  he  had  heard  the  faint  thud  of 
horses'  feet  covering  the  ground  rapidly,  and  then 
the  rattle  of  wheels  drawing  near.  A  great  wave  of 
thankfulness  had  swelled  up  from   his  heart  when 

338 


A  Struggle  with  Death  339 

Christina's  firm  hands  had  gripped  his,  and  her  eyes 
had  smiled  hope,  and  her  full,  low  voice  had  uttered 
cheering  words  of  gladness  that  she  was  in  time. 

To  know  that  she  was  in  the  house,  that  her  kind 
arms  were  mothering  his  darling,  gave  him  courage  to 
wait  and  hope. 

It  was  at  the  hush  of  dawn  that  the  cry  of  a  new- 
bom  child  broke  the  stillness.  It  was  a  plaintive, 
feeble  cry,  the  little  life  protesting  against  being 
hurried  into  a  dark  and  unknown  world  before  its  time. 
To  the  man  who  heard  it,  it  brought  no  glad  rush  of 
joyous  fatherhood.  It  had  cost  her  so  much.  Could 
he  ever  forget  those  long  hours  of  agonised  waiting, 
when  he  could  do  nothing  to  help  her,  when  his  own 
great  strength  seemed  a  mockery  to  him? 

He  was  standing  bareheaded  in  the  garden,  listen- 
ing. The  dewy  fragrance  of  dawn  was  filling  the  air 
with  strong,  sweet  scents,  and  the  faint  soimds  of 
awakening  life  were  heard.  From  the  open  window 
above,  that  querulous  cry  again  smote  on  his  ears, 
and  a  dumb  protest  against  the  justice  of  a  law 
which  he  had  never  before  questioned  stirred  within 
him. 

Why  should  the  suffering  be  all  hers?  He  could  do 
nothing :  nothing  was  asked  of  him.  He  had  to  stand 
in  the  outer  darkness,  within  sight  and  sound  of  that 
upper  window.  She  was  his.  The  life  she  had  borne 
was  his.     He  rebelled  against  his  helplessness. 

The  minutes  crept  on,  but  no  one  came  to  him,  and 
that  feeble  cry  struck  again  and  again  on  his  ear.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  hoiu-s  must  have  passed,  except 
that  the  light  was  still  pale  in  the  eastern  sky,  before  he 
saw  a  tall,  spare  figure  silhouetted  against  the  sickly 


340  Bawbee  Jock 

light  of  a  lamp,  and  he  heard  Doctor  Angus  call  his 
name  from  the  porch. 

He  answered,  but  he  did  not  move.  He  was  afraid 
to  look  into  the  other  man's  face. 

Doctor  Angus  advanced  a  step  or  two.  He  came 
close  up  to  Jock  and  peered  at  him  from  under  his 
shaggy  eyebrows. 

"  The  child 's  alive,"  he  said.  "  It 's  a  bit  small  thing 
— ^born  before  its  time,  of  course;  but  there  's  nothing 
the  matter  with  it — so  far  as  I  can  see.  You  're  the 
father  of  a  son,  you  '11  be  proud  to  hear." 

Jock  caught  his  arm.  The  pride  of  fatherhood 
seemed  to  him  as  nothing. 

"It's  she,"  he  stammered.  "Is  she — ?  Oh  my 
God!"     He  broke  off,  his  voice  failing  him. 

Doctor  Angus  laid  his  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and 
there  was  a  rough  tenderness  in  his  touch. 

"There,  there!"  he  said.  "It's  over,  and  she's 
come  through  it  bravely.  I  feared  for  them  both  at 
first.     But — I  had  Christina." 

Jock  stepped  back  and  drew  his  hand  across  his 
forehead.     The  cold  sweat  stood  out  on  it. 

The  doctor  gave  him  a  quick  look.  He  was  too 
well  trained  in  the  exigencies  of  the  moment  not  to 
know  that  the  best  cure  was  to  give  him  something  to 
do.  He  made  a  movement  of  his  hand  towards  the 
open  door. 

"Come  in  and  give  me  a  drink,  wiU  you?"  he  said. 
"You  'd  best  have  one  yourself." 

Jock  recovered  himself  instantly  and  led  the  way 
into  the  house. 

"When  may  I  see  her?"  he  asked,  after  he  had 
attended  to  the  doctor's  wants. 


A  Struggle  with  Death  341 

His  question  was  parried;  after  a  few  minutes  he 
pressed  it  again, 

"Not  yet — not  yet.  She  must  be  kept  quiet,"  was 
the  answer. 

"But,  may  n't  I  look  at  her,  just  for  a  moment — 
when  she  's  asleep?"  asked  Jock. 

"No,  you  mayn't,"  snapped  the  doctor  testily. 
He  gulped  down  his  whiskey-and-water  and  pushed 
aside  the  tumbler.  "Listen!  The  devil 's  in  it  that 
she  won't  sleep  as  long  as  she  hears  that." 

The  child  was  heard  feebly  wailing  from  the  room 
above. 

Doctor  Angus  frowned. 

"It  must  be  taken  away  from  her.  That  crying 
will  drive  her  crazy.  She  's  all  ears  to  listen."  He 
looked  at  Jock,  and  said  sharply,  "See  here,  I  '11  give 
you  something  to  do.  You  must  find  a  foster-mother 
for  the  child." 

"I!    How  can  I  do  that?"  said  Jock  blankly. 

Doctor  Angus  thought  for  a  moment. 

"Go  down  to  the  clachan  and  bring  Hamish's  wife 
back  with  you.  She  's  a  fine  healthy  creature,  and 
her  own  child  's  old  enough  to  leave.  One  of  the 
neighbours  will  take  it." 

Jock  picked  up  his  bonnet. 

"What  am  I  to  do  if  she  won't  come?"  he  asked. 

"Come!  She  must  come.  Bring  her!"  was  the 
conclusive  answer.  The  doctor  moved  away  in  the 
direction  of  the  staircase.  He  glanced  back,  "  She  '11 
come  right  enough.  Is  n't  she  one  of  your  own  people? 
It  means  life  to  the  child — and  the  mother.  I  '11  tell 
Sheila  to  fix  her  up  in  the  kitchen.  It's  fine  and  handy. 
Sheila   can   do   her   cooking   in   her  own   cottage.'* 


342  Bawbee  Jock 

He  talked  to  himself  as  he  went  up  the  steep  stair. 
"Aye!  she  may  give  Hfe  to  the  child,  and  God  knows  it 
wants  it,  poor  bairn ! " 

So  Jock  went  on  his  mission  and  took  on  his  shoulders 
the  first  new  cares  of  fatherhood.  Hamish's  wife  was 
a  loyal  soul.  She  obeyed  without  a  thought  of  ques- 
tion, and,  leaving  her  own  child  to  a  kindly  neighbour's 
care,  followed  him,  proud  to  be  chosen;  and  the  little 
feeble  life  was  given  into  her  care. 

Two  weary  days  and  nights  dragged  out  their 
lengthened  covirse,  and  in  the  darkened  room  above 
the  grey  shadow  of  doubt  and  fear  still  hovered. 

"What  are  we  fighting  against?  That 's  what  I 
want  to  know,"  said  Doctor  Angus  to  Christina.  He 
beckoned  her  to  follow  him  from  the  room  and  stood 
with  his  back  against  the  door,  and,  drawing  his  eye- 
brows together,  frowned  at  her  fiercely.  "What  are 
we  fighting  against?"  He  tapped  his  forehead  sig- 
nificantly. "She  's  babbling  queer  nonsense.  She  's 
got  something  on  her  mind.  What  is  it?  It 's  to  do 
with  him!     We  dare  n't  let  him  near  her." 

"Yes,"  said  Christina.  "I  can't  understand  it." 
There  was  a  cautious  movement  heard  in  the  hall 
below,  and  Christina  made  a  warning  gestiu-e.  "  Have 
you  told  him  that  you  would  like  to  have  another 
opinion — for  your  own  satisfaction?"  she  asked  in  a 
lowered  voice. 

"No;  I  have  n't." 

"I  think  you  'd  best  do  it — now,"  said  Christina. 

When  the  doctor's  heart  was  most  tender,  he  put  on 
his  fiercest  expression.  He  looked  at  his  watch,  and 
muttering  something  went  heavily  down  the  stairs. 

A  little  later  Christina  heard  him  leave  the  house. 


A  Struggle  with  Death  343 

She  went  out  on  to  the  landing  noiselessly  and  listened. 
The  space  was  so  small  that  from  where  she  stood  she 
cotild  look  down  into  the  hall  below,  and  Jock  was 
standing  there.  His  head  was  raised,  and  the  instant 
he  caught  sight  of  her  he  made  a  sign  that  he  was 
coming  up. 

Christina  was  about  to  answer  his  sign  when,  from 
the  open  door  behind,  came  the  sound  of  a  weak  voice, 
murmuring  at  first,  then  raised  in  pitiful  pleading.  She 
put  her  finger  to  her  lips  and  motioned  him  back. 

She  caught  a  glimpse  of  him  as  he  moved  away. 
Listlessly,  and  with  down-drooped  head,  he  had 
turned  towards  the  door.  Her  heart  ached  for  him. 
He  was  so  good  and  patient,  never  complaining,  eating 
his  meals  uncomfortably  at  odd  times,  sleeping  where 
it  was  least  trouble;  his  step,  ever  light,  was  now 
trained  to  a  mufiied  noiselessness ;  and  he  seemed 
oblivious  of  the  fact  that  he  was  deprived  of  all  his 
accustomed  comforts.  All  that  he  was  conscious  of, 
was,  that  they  would  not  allow  him  to  see  his  darling. 
He  was  puzzled,  hurt,  oppressed  by  a  dtill,  resentful 
wonder. 

Once,  in  spite  of  prohibition,  he  had  stolen  into 
Angela's  room  when  Christina  was  off  guard,  and  the 
effect  of  his  presence  had  been  startling  and  disastrous. 
Angela  had  opened  her  eyes  and  seen  him ;  and  instead 
of  the  love-light  which  he  had  never  looked  for  in 
vain,  terror  had  sprung  into  them,  and  a  feverish 
brightness  had  dyed  her  white  cheeks  scarlet,  and  she 
had  put  out  her  hands  to  ward  him  off. 

Christina  had  rettu-ned  at  that  moment  and  led  him 
away.  To  his  piteous  ' '  Why  is  she  afraid  of  me ? — why 
does  she  look  at  me  like  that?"  she  had  answered: 


344  Bawbee  Jock 

"  Dearie,  dearie,  it 's  not  you.  It 's  that  she 
does  n't  recognise  you.  She  's  feverish,  and  she  's 
not  herself.     The  least  bit  thing  excites  her." 

"But  I  'm  sure  she  must  want  me,"  pleaded  Jock. 

"  Never  fear  but  that  she  '11  want  you.  She  '11  soon 
be  asking  for  you,"  Christina  had  answered.  "It 's 
only  that  she  's  feverish,  that  she  does  n't  know 
you." 

But  if  the  explanation  failed  to  satisfy  Jock,  it  failed 
still  more  to  satisfy  Christina  herself. 

There  was  something  in  Angela's  excitement  and 
obvious  fear  of  her  husband  which  was  unaccountable, 
and,  as  Doctor  Angus  said,  it  was  queer  nonsense  that 
she  babbled. 

Jock's  name  was  never  off  her  lips,  but  it  was  dis- 
tressing to  listen  to  her  pleading,  her  weary  effort  to 
explain  some  puzzle,  to  which  her  brain  had  lost  the 
key. 

As  Jock  stood  at  the  open  door,  he  looked  out  with 
unseeing  eyes ;  he  was  fighting  a  new  and  deadlier  fear, 
for  Doctor  Angus  had  told  him  before  leaving  the  house 
that,  with  his  permission,  he  would  like  to  have  another 
opinion  about  his  patient. 

Jock  had  assented,  and  the  great  man  came,  but  he 
could  do  nothing.  There  was  nothing  for  him  to  do. 
He  expressed  his  confidence  in  Doctor  Angus;  and 
to  Christina,  whom  he  knew  well,  he  said  at  parting: 

"  It  is  mostly  in  your  hands.  It  is  the  musing  that 
must  pull  her  through;  and  if  you  can't " 

After  he  had  taken  his  departure,  Doctor  Angus  and 
Christina  faced  each  other  once  more  on  the  little 
landing  outside  the  darkened  room.  And  they  looked 
into  each  other's  eyes,  and  the  fighting  spirit  of  a 


A  Struggle  with  Death  345 

fighting  race  shone  steadily  in  the  woman's  and  was 
reflected  with  a  fiercer  glow  in  that  of  the  man's. 

Shoulder  to  shoulder  they  had  fought  many  a  fight 
before — in  hospital  wards,  and  in  the  homes  of  poverty 
and  crime ;  and  they  girded  up  their  strength  anew. 

Jock  had  lost  count  of  time.  It  might  be  hours,  it 
might  be  days,  since  the  great  man  had  come  and 
gone.  He  was  sitting  by  the  open  window  in  the  room 
which  was  so  full  of  memories  of  her,  where  every  ob- 
ject, every  trivial  commonplace,  reminded  him  of  the 
sweet  intimacy  of  her  companionship;  where  her 
thoughts  had  so  often  gone  out  to  him  in  a  silence 
deeper  than  words. 

It  was  the  close  of  the  day,  that  shadowy  hour 
'"twixt  the  gloamin'  and  the  murk,"  and  he  watched 
in  a  kind  of  dreary  apathy  the  darkness  enfolding  the 
hills,  and  falling  like  a  mother's  caress  on  the  deep, 
silent  loch,  shrouding  the  face  of  the  waters  in  a  mantle 
of  sleep. 

The  crushing  weight  of  the  hourly  and  daily  struggle 
with  an  intangible  something,  which  eluded  his  grasp, 
was  pressing  upon  him  with  an  intolerable  burden  of 
depression. 

Once  again  that  day  he  had  made  an  appeal  to 
Christina  to  be  allowed  to  see  Angela ;  and  Christina, 
in  bitter  pain  of  spirit,  had  denied  him.  She  had 
denied  him  with  the  oft-repeated  promise,  which  he 
had  heard  so  many  times  that  he  had  grown  to  dread 
the  asking  for  it: 

"To-morrow,  perhaps,  dearie." 

To-morrow!  It  was  always  to-morrow.  And  the 
awful  thought  would  shoot  through  his  brain,  making 
his  heart  stand  still,  that  a  day  might  come  when  there 


346  Bawbee  Jock 

would  be  no  to-morrow,  no  hope  to  watch  and  Ksten 
for,  no  need  to  ask  the  daily  question. 

The  bafifling  consciousness  of  his  helplessness  mad- 
dened him  at  times.  What  was  this  elusive  some- 
thing which  he  could  not  grapple  with — to  which  he 
could  not  put  a  meaning?  During  his  long,  solitary 
watches  he  went  over  each  small  detail,  every  incident 
which  had  happened  from  the  moment  he  had  returned 
that  night  and  heard  Angela  crying  out  to  him  from 
the  darkness,  to  the  time  when  he  had  found  her  lying 
half -conscious  on  the  path,  with  Dileas  standing  over 
her.  His  brain  grew  dulled  striving  to  solve  the  pro- 
blem. He  had  questioned  Sheila,  and  she  could 
throw  no  light  on  it.  She  had  guarded  her  mistress 
as  faithfully  as  Dileas. 

But  something  had  happened,  and  it  was  that  some- 
thing which  was  keeping  the  flame  of  fever  burning  in 
her  blood.  Doctor  Angus  did  not  deceive  him  any 
more  successfully  than  did  Christina.  They  tried  to 
soften  certain  facts  to  him,  to  make  them  appear 
reasonable;  but  he  knew  that  it  was  his  presence  that 
they  feared,  and  the  recollection  of  Angela's  terror  at 
the  sight  of  him  never  left  his  thoughts.  It  was  ever 
present  as  a  ghastly  mockery  of  his  love  for  her. 

"I  ought  never  to  have  left  her,"  was  his  futile 
regret. 

Dileas,  who  was  lying  at  his  feet,  rose  and  pressed 
his  body  close  up  against  him. 

"If  you  could  only  speak!  You  were  with  her  all 
the  time.     If  you  could  only  tell  me!" 

Jock  put  his  hand  on  the  dog's  shoulder,  and  Dileas 
reared  himself  up  and  planted  his  fore-paws  on  his 
chest.    Jock  coiild  feel  the  dog's  weight  against  the 


A  Struggle  with  Death  347 

little  miniature-case  which  he  always  carried  about 
with  him ;  and  he  slipped  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  and 
took  it  out  and  touched  the  spring,  and  it  opened. 

The  light  had  grown  so  faint  now  that  he  could  not 
see,  and  he  lit  a  candle  and  placed  it  on  the  table 
beside  him.  He  sat  for  long,  with  the  miniature  in  the 
hollow  of  his  hand,  gazing  at  the  sweet  face  which 
looked  up  at  him,  the  eyes  that  had  ever  met  his  with 
the  light  of  love  in  them,  the  lips  which  he  had  never 
heard  utter  a  fretful  word. 

He  shut  the  case  with  a  sigh,  and  put  it  back  in  his 
pocket.  How  well  he  remembered  the  night  she  had 
given  it  to  him !  Christmas  Eve!  And  the  clock  had 
just  struck  twelve.  She  had  left  him  standing  in  the 
hall  and  nm  into  the  room  where  he  was  sitting  now, 
and  had  come  back  holding  the  little  parcel,  and  had 
said,  laughing: 

"I  hid  it  in  my  work-basket.  If  you  ever  want  to 
find  out  my  secrets,  go  and  look  there." 

He  turned  his  head  mechanically.  There  was  her 
sofa,  and  there,  within  his  reach,  was  her  work-basket. 
He  drew  it  towards  him.  He  handled  it  tenderly,  for 
the  vision  of  her  dear  self  seemed  to  hover  over  it. 
He  could  see  her  at  work,  and  her  pretty,  quick  move- 
ments. With  what  pride  she  had  shown  him  her 
handiwork !  He  folded  back  the  blue  satin  cover,  and 
when  he  saw  the  soft  heap  of  lace  and  cambric  which 
lay  beneath,  he  rose  abruptly.  Going  to  the  window, 
he  leant  against  the  upraised  sash  and  stared  into  the 
darkness. 

A  fierce  tide  of  hatred  swept  over  him  at  times,  and 
he  was  afraid  of  himself.  It  was  hatred  of  the  child. 
He  could  not  bring  himself  to  touch  it;  he  had  only 


34^  Bawbee  Jock 

seen  it  as  a  helpless,  muffled  bundle,  and  he  had  re- 
coiled from  its  cry  as  though  it  had  been  a  hand  strik- 
ing at  him  out  of  the  darkness.  Sheila  had  pleaded 
timidly  with  him ;  Christina,  who  understood  better, 
had  looked  at  him  with  pity. 

He  stood  for  some  time,  fighting  to  gain  the  mastery 
over  his  feelings.  At  length  he  dragged  himself  back 
to  his  chair,  and  forced  himself  deliberately  to  touch 
and  handle  the  things  which  he  had  recoiled  from.  He 
laid  them  aside  with  reverent  care,  and  then  he  took 
up  her  scissors,  and  then  her  little  gold  thimble.  The 
thimble  was  so  small  that  it  tumbled  off  the  tip  of  his 
finger  when  he  tried  to  balance  it,  and  sHpped  into  one 
of  the  pockets,  and  he  began  to  turn  out  the  pocket 
to  find  it. 

There  were  some  balls  of  wool  and  a  scrap  of  tartan. 
She  had  said  she  was  going  to  learn  how  to  knit  a 
tartan  stocking.  Then  came  a  miscellaneous  collec- 
tion of  odds  and  ends,  and  thrust  down  to  the  bottom 
of  the  pocket  he  found  a  small  white  bundle.  It 
jingled  as  he  took  it  out. 

Her  bawbees!  Her  Saturday  nights'  reivings! 
How  well  he  remembered  her  shaking  that  little  white 
bundle  in  his  face,  and  telling  him  that  she  stole  his 
money  to  buy  him  a  Christmas  present.  She  had 
hidden  her  treasure:  he  had  seen  her  do  it — and  then 
forgotten.  He  untied  the  handkerchief,  and  inside 
it  he  found  the  few  sixpences  and  shillings,  and  a 
tightly  folded  packet  of  paper.  He  had  not  seen  her 
put  that  packet  of  paper  into  her  handkerchief. 

Angela  had  said  of  him,  that  he  was  too  much  of 
a  gentleman  to  pry  into  her  correspondence,  but  he 
turned  the  packet  over  again  and  again.     It  was  not 


A  Struggle  with  Death  349 

a  letter — it  was  something  she  had  written  herself. 
He  could  see,  where  one  of  the  folds  was  open,  that  the 
writing  inside  was  hers. 

He  hesitated.  He  yearned,  with  a  longing  that  was 
pain,  for  some  message,  something  which  would  bring 
the  consciousness  of  her  presence  near  to  him.  She 
was  fiill  of  pretty  fancies,  and  she  had  so  loved  to  give 
him  surprises.  The  paper  might  have  to  do  with  the 
miniattire — his  Christmas  present. 

The  blood  rushed  up  to  his  head  and  buzzed  in  his 
ears.  It  must  be  meant  for  him.  He  would  turn 
back  the  first  fold  and  see  what  it  was. 

He  saw  a  name — his  own  name.  It  stood  out 
clearly,  and  a  throb  of  joy  caught  his  breath.  The 
paper  was  meant  for  him ;  he  ought  to  read  it,  and  he 
smoothed  out  the  page.  The  heading  was  faintly 
written :  the  hand  that  had  held  the  pen  had  faltered. 

"My  confession.  Oh,  my  darling,  forgive  me  in 
your  heart  before  you  read  it! " 


CHAPTER  XXX 
Angela's  confession 

HER  confession !  To  ask  his  forgiveness !  A  mist 
swam  before  his  eyes;  the  hours  of  weary 
watching  had  told  on  even  his  iron  strength. 

Then  the  mist  cleared,  and  hope  sprang  to  life. 
How  could  there  be  a  question  of  such  things?  Her 
vivid  imagination  had  conjured  up  some  impossible 
phantom.  This  message  from  her  dear  hand  was  to 
give  him  the  clue  to  the  mystery  which  he  had  been 
trying  in  vain  to  solve.  If  he  only  knew  what  the 
something  was  that  had  been  torturing  her  poor  weary 
brain,  he  could  help  her. 

He  raised  the  paper  to  his  lips  and  kissed  it. 

"I  promise,"  he  murmured.  "There  is  nothing  I 
would  not  forgive  you  " ;  and  shading  his  eyes  from  the 
candle's  flicker,  he  read. 

He  could  hear  her  speaking  to  him.  Her  quick, 
vehement  little  tricks  of  voice  and  manner  when  she 
was  excited  flashed  at  him  from  the  open  page.  He 
could  feel  her  clinging  hands  on  his;  hear  her  sweet 
appeals ;  see  her  eyes  eagerly  imploring. 

"I  have  deceived  you  horribly;  I  did  not  mean  to, 
I  did  not  plan  it.  It  all  began  with — Bawbee  Jock. 
Because  you  were  called  Bawbee  Jock.  That  was  it — 
just  a  silly  little  joke.     It 's  the  little  things  that  often 

350 


Angela's  Confession  351 

matter  most;  and  that  was  it — just  Bawbee  Jock.  I 
must  have  fallen  in  love  with  you  because  I  heard  you 
called  that.  You  looked  so  lonely  that  time  you  came 
into  the  hall.  You  remember?  The  day  I  arrived — 
and  Flossie  and  Captain  de  Burgh  began  to  chaff. 
And — and  that  was  the  beginning.  It  was  Bawbee 
Jock." 

There  was  something  written  and  scratched  out. 

"Dearest:  my  head  is  so  tired  and  stupid  that  I 
cannot  write  sense.  But  you  remember,  we  played 
roulette  that  night,  and — I  did  not  tell  a  fib ;  but  when 
I  lost  my  money  you  thought  it  meant  dreadful  things 
to  me,  and  I  let  you  think  that.  Just  for  fim  at  first, 
because  it  amused  me;  and  then — oh,  then,  after  that, 
things  went  on  so  quick  that  I  could  not  stop  them.  I 
could  not  bear  the  idea  of  losing  you — and — I  married 
you.  Yes,  I  made  you  marry  me.  You  loved  me.  I 
knew  that;  but  you  thought  that  I  was  poor  and 
friendless,  and  that  you  were  going  to  protect  me,  and 
love  me,  and  work  for  me.  And  I  let  you  think  it, 
because  I  wanted  to  feel  that  it  was  only  me,  and 
nothing  else.  It  was  all  a  lie.  I  'm  not  poor.  I  'm — 
dreadfully — horribly  rich.  There — it 's  out.  What 
will  you  say?  What  will  you  do?  That  look  will 
come  into  your  eyes  that  goes  right  through  people, 
and  it  will  shrivel  me  up,  and  you  will  say,  'I  cannot 
forgive  you  for  not  trusting  me.'  That  is  what  will 
hurt  you  most — that  I  did  not  trust  you — that  my 
love  was  not  big  enough  to  trust  you.  I  wanted  to 
keep  you  all  to  myself.  I  was  jealous  of  everything — 
of  my  own  money,  and  I  was  wickedly  jealous  of  poor 
Alister.  And  I  justified  it  all  to  myself — at  least  I 
tried  to.     I  told  myself  that  you  loved  being  every- 


352  Bawbee  Jock 

thing  to  me;  and  when  you  said  that  it  was  your 
greatest  pride  to  feel  that  I  could  not  do  without  you, 
then  I  said  to  myself,  I  will  not  spoil  his  dream.  But 
now — I  know  that  it  was  aU  wrong.  It  was  nothing 
but  silly,  selfish  vanity." 

There  were  splashes  on  the  page. 

"These  are  tears,  dearest;  but  I  have  dried  my  eyes, 
and  I  must  go  on  quick,  because  there  are  so  many 
things  to  explain.  You  never  found  me  out ;  all  kinds 
of  things  seemed  to  happen  on  purpose  to  help  me  to 
keep  my  secret.  When  I  told  Flossie  what  I  wanted 
to  do — that  I  wanted  to  marry  you  without  telling 
you  the  truth  about  myself — he  scoffed  at  the  ridicu- 
lousness of  such  a  silly  joke;  and  then  when  he  found 
that  I  was  in  earnest,  he  was  very  angry.  He  said  you 
would  never  forgive  me.  It  was  horrid  of  me,  and  I 
know  I  made  Flossie  miserable;  but  I  told  him  that  he 
could  not  scold  me  into  obeying  him,  because  I  was 
not  a  little  girl  any  longer,  and  I  could  do  as  I  pleased. 
I  could.  He  was  my  guardian  until  I  was  twenty-one, 
but  after  that  my  money  was  my  very  own — to  do 
just  what  I  Hked  with.  My  father  made  a  very  funny 
will.  Flossie  said  he  never  heard  of  a  woman  being 
given  such  a  free  hand;  that  I  might  make  ducks  and 
drakes  of  it  without  any  one  being  a  bit  the  wiser. 
Oh,  you  will  think  me  such  a  shameful  fraud.  And 
what  made  it  so  easy  to  deceive  you  was,  that  people 
think  that  I  am  just  an  ordinary  kind  of  heiress,  be- 
cause Flossie  never  talked.  He  said  he  would  not 
have  fortune-hunters  bothering  him,  and  it 's  so  long 
since  my  father  died,  and  the  money  has  been  rolling 
itself  up  all  these  years.  How  I  hate  myself  when  I 
look  back  and  remember  my  mean  little  deceits  and  the 


Angela's  Confession  353 

things  I  made  you  believe.  I  never  intended  to  keep 
it  up — really  I  did  n't.  And  I  thought  you  would  find 
out.  I  was  always  going  to  tell  you — often  my  con- 
science pricked  me.  That  day  you  came  back  from 
Glenmoira  and  brought  me  the  flowers,  and  you  were 
so  sad  and  imhappy  about  your  people,  I  felt  I  could 
not  deceive  you  one  moment  longer;  I  wanted  to  help 
you  so.  And  then  the  post-bag  came  in,  and  there 
was  that  letter  from  Alister,  and  I  hardened  my  heart. 
Dearest,  forgive  me.  I  thought  that  I  was  doing 
right — that  if  I  told  you  then,  the  money  would  make 
misery  between  us,  because  of  Alister.  I  did  not  want 
to  help  him.  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  all  the  un- 
generous thoughts  which  came  into  my  mind.  It  was 
only  when  I  saw  your  face,  after  Doctor  Angus  had 
told  you  about  Alister,  that  I  realised  what  I  had  done 
to  you.  When  you  said,  '  I  ought  never  to  have 
deserted  him.*  That  showed  me  myself — that  my 
love  for  you  had  been  all  selfishness.  I  ought  to  have 
trusted  you.  We  might  have  saved  Alister.  I  do 
not  know  how,  but  together  we  could  have  found  out 
a  way.  Dearest — my  own — if  you  knew  what  these 
days  and  nights  have  been  since  you  left  me.  I  cannot 
sleep.  I  am  like  a  poor,  unhappy  ghost  that  wants  to 
confess  a  secret  which  will  not  let  it  rest,  and  it  wanders 
and  wanders  and  can  find  no  one  to  listen  to  it.  When 
will  you  come  back  to  me  ?  I  cotmt  the  hours,  and  I 
pray  that  each  one  will  be  the  last;  and  to-night,  when 
you  did  not  come,  I  said  to  myself,  '  Something  will 
go  snap  in  my  brain  if  I  cannot  get  the  burden  of  this 
lie  off  my  mind.'  I  thought  of  my  little  innocent 
baby,  and  that  it  should  have  such  a  deceitful  mother — 
and" 

23 


354  Bawbee  Jock 

The  writing  had  become  faint.  Jock  had  to  bend  his 
head  to  read  it. 

"I  hope  you  will  never  see  this;  that  I  will  tell  you 
myself;  but — in  case " 

Something  had  been  struck  out:  then  a  few  last 
words. 

"It  began  with  such  a  little  thing — only  a  name — 
Bawbee  Jock." 

He  dropped  the  sheet  of  paper  and  stood  up.  A 
ttmault  of  excitement  was  surging  within  him,  hammer- 
ing meanings  into  his  brain,  unlocking  the  floodgates 
of  his  spirit. 

He  threw  up  his  arms. 

"  My  God!     Help  me  to  help  her ! "  he  cried. 

There,  in  the  room  above,  her  dear  life  was  ebbing 
away.  And  it  was  this !  this  confession  of  her  love  for 
him,  which  was  torturing  her  brain  to  madness.  The 
pitifulness  of  it !  To  think  that  it  was  that !  and  that 
he  had  not  known. 

He  took  a  step  forward,  and  stood  with  his  arms 
upstretched.  His  lips  moved;  he  spoke,  not  in  mur- 
mured incoherence,  but  articulating  with  tense  concen- 
tration of  force  and  will. 

"My  darling,  I  forgive  you.  There  is  nothing  I 
would  not  forgive  you.     I  only  love  you  more  dearly." 

For  some  minutes  he  remained  in  the  same  position, 
his  head  thrown  back,  repeating  the  words,  and  calling 
her  name  softly  under  his  breath. 

But  he  was  conscious  of  no  answer  to  his  spirit  cry. 
How  could  he  reach  her?  He  must  speak;  he  had  a 
message  to  give  which  would  mean  life  to  her.  They 
could  not  keep  him  from  her. 

He  left  the  room,  and,  crossing  the  hall,  stole  noise- 


Angela's  Confession  355 

lessly  up  the  stair.  The  night  was  oppressively  warm, 
and  every  door  and  window  stood  open  to  the  air. 
When  he  reached  the  topmost  step  he  saw  Christina 
standing  at  the  entrance  to  Angela's  room. 

There  was  an  expression  on  her  face  which  he  had 
never  seen  before.  She  had  always  sent  him  from  her 
with  words  of  would-be  comfort  and  hope ;  but  this  was 
a  look  of  terrified  entreaty,  and  she  warned  him  to 
come  no  nearer. 

He  stopped;  but  he  did  not  turn  and  go,  with  his 
usual  pathetic  obedience.     He  stood  his  ground. 

"I  must!"  he  whispered,  and  he  moved  a  step 
nearer. 

Christina  advanced  also  and  barred  his  way.  The 
expression  of  entreaty  in  her  eyes  vanished,  and  in 
its  place  flashed  a  light  like  that  which  might  have 
flashed  from  the  eyes  of  an  angry  lioness  possessed  by 
the  primitive  instinct  of  protective  motherhood. 

"No!"  she  whispered.  And  before  her  look  he 
quailed,  and  turned,  and  went. 

Who  was  there  to  help  him?  With  a  sickening 
sense  of  baffled  strength,  he  wandered  out  into  the 
garden  and  walked  up  and  down,  keeping  the  faintly 
hghted  window  above  within  his  sight :  raising  his  face 
to  it,  strugghng  with  a  passion  of  longing  to  send  to 
her  his  message  of  love. 

At  length  he  felt  that  he  could  stand  the  strain  no 
longer.  He  must  know  what  was  the  meaning  of 
that  look  in  Christina's  eyes. 

How  still  the  house  was.  He  waited  on  the  lowest 
step  of  the  stair  and  listened. 

He  mounted  slowly,  until  he  stood  again  on  the 
landing  above,  but  no  figure  barred  his  way.     There 


356  Bawbee  Jock 

was  not  a  sound  of  life;  a  deathly  stillness  hung  on  the 
hot,  heavy  air.  The  door  of  Angela's  room  stood 
open,  and  he  crept  near,  and  looked  in. 

The  light  was  dim,  and  it  was  on  Christina's  figure 
that  his  eyes  fell.  A  table  was  drawn  up  to  the  foot 
of  the  bed,  and  she  was  leaning  her  folded  arms  on  it, 
and  on  her  folded  arms  drooped  her  bowed  head. 
Her  face  was  hidden,  but  the  attitude  spoke  of  defeat, 
broken  courage,  a  brave  spirit  vanquished. 

On  the  great  carved  bed  lay  a  little,  still,  white  fig- 
ure. The  dark  hair  made  a  dusky  shadow  on  the 
pillow,  and  the  long  lashes  showed  black  against  the 
waxen  cheek. 

Her  arms  were  stretched  out  in  front  of  her  over  the 
coverlet.  Tired  little  arms,  so  weary  of  struggling. 
The  upturned  hands  were  open,  as  though  pleading 
for  the  strong  clasp  they  sought  in  vain.  Empty  arms ! 
Empty  pleading  hands!  She  had  tried  to  reach  him, 
and  he  had  been  there,  calling  to  her,  beseeching 
heaven  to  tell  her  that  his  love  and  his  forgiveness 
were  hers — and  she  had  not  heard. 

The  smouldering  sense  of  revolt  against  the  justice 
of  Nature's  decree  bitrst  into  a  passion  of  frenzied 
remorse. 

"She  's  dead!  And  it  is  my  love  that  has  killed 
her."  And  he  turned  and  fled,  as  though  the  sword 
of  the  Avenging  Angel  were  at  his  heels. 

In  the  hall  he  stood  staring  round  him — ^his  hands 
clenched,  his  body  stiff  and  tense. 

There,  on  the  wall,  was  her  sickle.  Another 
Reaper,  with  his  grim  sickle,  had  gathered  in  his  sheaf 
that  night. 

He  cursed  the  thing. 


Angela's  Confession  357 

The  old  hound  crept  near  and  licked  his  hand,  and 
he  struck  the  touch  of  love  from  him. 

On  his  strained  ears  fell  a  cry — the  cry  of  the  child, 
lustier  and  stronger  than  had  been  its  first  feeble  pro- 
test to  the  world ;  there  was  life  in  the  cry.  That  puny 
fretful  thing  would  live;  and  she  had  given  her  life  for 
it.     He  had  lost  her  for  that! 

Stumbling  like  a  drunken  man,  he  staggered  to  the 
open  door,  and  out  into  the  night.  Whither  could  he 
go  to  escape  from  himself? 

To  the  hills  he  fled — to  the  moors  which  he  loved 
so  well.  The  moon  had  risen  and  hung  like  a  pale 
lamp  in  the  dark  blue  vault  of  heaven.  Unconsciously 
the  light  seemed  to  guide  his  steps,  and  he  found 
himself  on  the  lonely  hillside,  where  he  had  kept  his 
vigil  with  his  God  on  the  eve  of  his  wedding-day. 
He  came  to  the  spot  where  he  had  lain,  and  the 
memory  of  that  night  rushed  back  to  him.  The  moon- 
light silvered  the  heather  and  touched  with  a  magic 
wand  each  mountain  top  and  craggy  peak.  All  was 
the  same !  Nature,  grand,  terrible,  coldly  unapproach- 
able in  the  majesty  of  her  repose,  held  her  silent  cotu't 
in  the  mystery  of  the  night.  And  nothing  cared — 
nothing  heeded  his  despair. 

Fiercer  rose  the  tide  of  revolt  within  him.  It  was 
here  that  he  had  made  his  vows.  Where  were  his 
hopes,  his  ideals?  Where  was  the  simple  faith  of  his 
boyhood's  trust?  God  had  forgotten  him;  Nature 
was  against  him.  Why  had  she  been  given  him,  the 
most  precious  of  life's  gifts,  if  such  a  beautiful  thing  as 
their  love  had  been  was  to  be  turned  against  him? 

He  held  up  his  arms  to  the  moon-lit  sky  and  called 
her  name  aloud. 


358  Bawbee  Jock 

"Angela,  Angela!" 

It  could  not  be  that  her  ears  were  deaf  to  his  call. 
She  must  hear.  A  creature  whose  very  being  was  the 
essence  of  life,  and  joy,  and  an  exquisite  vitality, 
could  not  die. 

"My  love,  my  love!"  he  cried.  "I  would  have 
given  my  heart's  blood  for  you." 

But  the  pitiless  skies,  serene  in  their  beauty, 
answered  not. 

"  Nothing  cares.  There  is  no  pity  for  me  in  heaven 
or  earth." 

And  he  threw  himself,  face  downwards,  on  the 
heather,  where  he  had  lain  before,  and  bit  it  with  his 
strong  young  teeth  like  some  dumb  animal  in  the 
hands  of  its  tormentor,  until  his  lips  were  raw  and 
bleeding,  and  the  physical  pain  stung  him  anew  to  the 
agony  of  the  aching  void  in  his  desolate  heart. 

The  midnight  hours  crept  on,  and  he  dragged  him- 
self to  his  feet.  He  stood  bareheaded,  with  his  face 
to  the  eastern  sky,  where  the  dawn  of  another  day 
would  soon  break. 

The  dawn!    And  he  had  lost  his  all. 

"I  cannot  live  without  her!"  and  with  his  own 
despairing  cry  ringing  in  his  ears,  he  fled  before  the 
wings  of  the  night-wind. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 


THE  RIFT  IN  THE  CLOUD 


DAYBREAK  found  him  still  wandering  far  from 
home.  When  the  sun  rose  high,  and  in  its 
strength  beat  down  on  his  uncovered  head,  the  animal 
instinct  for  protection  guided  him,  and  he  crept  for 
shelter  into  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock,  and,  throwing 
himself  down  on  the  damp  ground,  the  merciful  balm 
of  sleep  wrapped  him  in  blessed  unconsciousness. 

How  long  he  slept  he  knew  not,  and  to  where  his 
wanderings  led  him  when  he  awoke  he  paid  little  heed. 
It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  he  found  himself 
standing  on  the  brow  of  a  hill  above  the  clachan,  look- 
ing down  at  the  white  house  nestling  amongst  the 
trees  by  the  loch-side. 

He  could  not  keep  away  from  it.  He  must  go  back 
to  it — the  place  where  every  association  would  be  like 
hammering  a  nail  into  the  chords  of  memory. 

He  was  faint  for  want  of  food,  dishevelled,  and  wild- 
eyed;  clotted  streaks  of  peat-slime  stuck  to  his  kilt 
where  he  had  lain  on  the  wet  ground ;  but  a  sullen  kind 
of  despair  held  him  almost  oblivious  of  anything  ex- 
cept a  dog-like  instinct  to  retrace  his  steps  homewards. 
As  he  descended  the  sheep-track  which  wound  down 
the  face  of  the  hillside,  his  dazed"  sight  saw  only  the 
turf  at  his  feet;  he  stumbled  along  with  his  head  down, 

359 


360  Bawbee  Jock 

and  the  first  consciousness  that  a  human  being  was 
near  him  was  when  a  voice  called  his  name,  and  he 
raised  his  eyes  to  see  Flossie  coming  up  the  path  to 
meet  him. 

He  stared,  in  a  kind  of  apathetic  wonder.  It  was 
undoubtedly  Flossie,  and  his  appearance  was  so 
ordinary  and  matter-of-fact,  and  savoured  so  forcibly 
of  the  material.  His  round,  pink  face  wore  its 
characteristic  expression  of  fresh  candour;  but  as  his 
gaze  rested  on  Jock,  a  look  of  wondering  pity  came  into 
his  eyes,  and  he  checked  the  words  which  rose  to  his  lips. 

Could  this  haggard  man  with  the  bloodshot  eyes  be 
the  gallant  bridegroom  whom  he  had  seen  bear  off  his 
love  in  the  pride  of  his  strong  young  manhood  on  his 
wedding-day? 

The  look  of  passionate  adoration  on  Jock's  face 
when  Angela  had  put  the  bridle  into  his  hand,  when 
they  were  starting  on  their  romantic  honeymoon,  and 
said,  "You  are  to  lead  always,"  had  touched  a  tender 
chord  in  Flossie's  heart;  and  the  memory  of  it  had 
never  faded. 

With  his  eyes  still  full  of  pitying  wonder,  he  drew  a 
step  nearer. 

"My  dear  boy,"  he  said  kindly,  "where  have  you 
been?     They  've  been  scoiuing  the  place  for  you." 

Jock  stared  at  him  vacantly.  He  expressed  no 
surprise  at  this  unlooked-for  meeting.  He  only  stared 
at  first,  and  then  something  familiar  in  the  appearance 
of  the  figure  before  him  struck  on  his  dvilled  brain. 
Flossie  was  wearing  the  same  kind  of  clothes  as  he  had 
worn  at  Angela's  wedding,  a  dark  blue  serge  suit,  and 
the  triviality  of  the  small  coincidence  stirred  a  note  of 
memory. 


The  Rift  in  the  Cloud  361 

He  spoke. 

"You  said,  'If  you  let  harm  come  to  her — by  the 
Lord,  I  '11  slay  you.'  Do  you  remember?  Have 
you  come  to  keep  your  word?" 

His  voice  was  tuneless  and  hollow,  as  though  all 
the  springs  of  life  had  withered  and  run  dry. 

The  expression  of  pity  and  wonder  on  Flossie's  face 
deepened. 

Jock  swayed,  and  took  an  unsteady  step  forward. 

"Hi!  hold  up!"  exclaimed  Flossie,  and  caught  a 
firm  grip  of  the  stumbling  figure. 

He  glanced  round.  A  slab  of  fiat  rock  lay  near,  and 
he  led  Jock  to  it. 

"Sit  down,"  he  said,  as  though  he  were  speaking 
to  a  child,  and  he  felt  for  something  in  his  pocket,  and, 
finding  his  flask,  filled  the  cup  and  held  it  out.  "  Drink 
that;  it  will  pull  you  together." 

Jock  obeyed  mechanically.  This  little,  pink-faced 
man  could  be  very  dominating. 

He  gave  back  the  empty  cup,  and  dropped  his  head 
into  his  hands.  His  senses  began  to  awaken  under  the 
influence  of  the  stimulant  to  the  intolerable  anguish  of 
the  present. 

Flossie  left  him  alone  tmtil  he  looked  up  of  his  own 
accord. 

"Better?"  he  asked.  "Have  some  more?"  and  he 
held  up  the  flask. 

Jock  drew  back,  like  a  sensitive  plant  touched  by 
a  rude  hand.  The  pleasant,  well-bred  voice,  the  easy 
manner,  the  prosaicness  of  the  words,  stung  and 
roused  him. 

He  looked  round. 

The  sun  was  shining,  and  the  wide  moor  lay  bask- 


362  Bawbee  Jock 

ing  in  the  strong  light.  The  bees  were  busy  in  the 
heather  beside  him;  a  lark  carolled  in  the  blue  sky 
overhead;  the  crow  of  a  cock  grouse  came  down  on  the 
faint  breeze  from  the  ridge  above. 

He  turned  his  head  slowly,  and  his  gaze  came  back 
to  Flossie's  face. 

"All  the  same.  Everything  going  on  exactly  the 
same,  and — she  's  dead." 

He  dropped  his  head  again  into  his  hands. 

Flossie  uttered  a  smothered  exclamation,  and  the 
flask  slipped  through  his  fingers. 

" Dead!     The  boy  's  crazed." 

He  hesitated,  and  then  said: 

"Why  do  you  say  that?" 

"Didn't  you  know?  I  thought  you  had  come  to 
reproach  me." 

The  husky  voice  lagged  a  little. 

"  I  loved  her — I  'd  have  given  my  heart's  blood  for 
her.  She  's  dead — my  love  has  killed  her.  And  the 
child  lives.     Her  life  for — "     And  he  broke  off. 

Flossie  laid  his  hand  on  the  bowed  shoulders. 

"  My  dear  boy,  she  's  not  dead.  Why  do  you  say 
that?" 

Jock  turned  away  from  the  kindly  touch,  a  pathetic 
protest  in  the  action.  What  was  the  use  of  torturing 
him? 

"  She  's  dead,"  he  said  drearily.  "  You  don't  know. 
You  did  n't  see.  I  knew  they  were  deceiving  me,  and 
— I  went  up — no  one  heard  me.  I  looked  in — the 
door  was  open,  and  I  saw " 

Flossie  pulled  him  round  and  forced  him  to  meet  his 
eyes. 

"You  saw  her  sleeping,"  he  said,  slowly  and  dis- 


The  Rift  in  the  Cloud  363 

tinctly.     "She  was  asleep — a  blessed  sleep  which  has 
saved  her  life." 

"Sleep — sleep!"  echoed  Jock,  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 

"Yes,  sleep,"  said  Flossie. 

Jock  gripped  the  arm  next  him. 

"Oh,  Lord!"  murmured  Flossie,  wincing.  "I 
did  n't  think  he  had  enough  left  in  him  for  that." 

"Sleep — say  that  again." 

Jock's  voice  rang  out  with  a  new  strength. 

Flossie  managed  to  free  himself  from  the  vice-like 
grip.  He  smiled  whimsically,  but  there  were  tears  in 
his  eyes,  for  his  heart  was  filled  with  an  immense  pity. 

He  gave  Jock's  shoulder  a  forcible  shake;  something 
that  he  could  feel  physically. 

"  She 's  alive,  man.  Do  you  hear?  Take  my  word 
for  it  that  it 's  true."  He  pointed  down  the  track. 
"I  've  just  come  up  from  the  house  there,  where  she  's 
sleeping  peacefully  like  a  child,  and  I  've  been  speaking 
to  that  noble  woman,  I  don't  know  her  name,  who  's 
nursed  her;  and  she  says " 

Jock  had  sprung  to  his  feet. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  exclaimed  Flossie, 
catching  at  his  kilt  before  he  got  out  of  reach. 

"I 'm  going  to  her!"  cried  Jock. 

"No  you  don't!"  answered  Flossie;  and  he  hung  on 
to  the  tough  pleat  of  tartan. 

"But  I  must!" 

"No,  I  say  you  must  not!" 

Jock  still  tried  to  free  himself. 
•    "I  tell  you  I  must  see  her.     I  know  what  she  's  been 
breaking  her  heart  over.     I  know  what 's  been  nearly 
sending  her  off  her  head — what  she  's  been  trjdng  to 
tell  me.     I  know  she  wants  me." 


364  Bawbee  Jock 

Flossie  dragged  him  back  with  a  violent  jerk. 

"You  can't  see  her.  Keep  away  from  her  for  God's 
sake!  Her  life  's  hanging  on  a  thread,  and  if  she  hears 
your  step,  or  catches  a  whisper  of  your  voice,  it  will 
waken  her,  and  sleep  's  her  salvation." 

Jock  gave  a  groan,  as  he  was  pulled  down  on  to 
the  rock  from  which  he  had  sprung.  He  turned 
jealously  on  Flossie. 

"Have  you  seen  her?"  he  asked. 

"Seen  her?  No!  I  only  got  here  a  couple  of  hours 
ago.  But  I  've  seen  that  grim-looking  doctor — and 
the  woman  that 's  nursed  her.  They  're  a  grand  pair. 
My  poor  little  girl — my  poor  little  girl." 

Flossie  took  out  his  pocket-handkerchief  and  blew 
his  nose.  He  was  not  ashamed  to  show  his  emotion, 
and  it  somehow  calmed  Jock  to  see  how  affected  he 
was.  When  Jock  spoke  again,  it  was  in  a  subdued 
tone,  touching  in  its  humility. 

"Has  she — did  they —  Do  you  know  if  she  has 
asked  for  me?" 

Flossie  nodded. 

"Yes.  That  gave  them  the  first  tip  that  she  was 
all  right — when  she  woke  up  from  that  first  long  sleep. 
Oh,  I  know.  Don't  bother  to  explain."  He  made  a 
gesture  with  his  hand,  checking  Jock's  words.  "I 
understand  all  about  it.  She  had  got  something  on  her 
mind?  Her  poor  little  head,  you  know.  And  the  fever 
had  got  into  it.  Good  Lord!  Do  you  think  I  don't 
know.  There — there !  It 's  all  right.  But  it  was 
playing  the  very  devil  with  her.     My  poor  little  girl." 

Flossie,  usually  so  glib  with  his  tongue,  jerked  out 
his  words  spasmodically.  He  blew  his  nose  again,  and 
then  rammed  his  handkerchief  into  his  pocket. 


The  Rift  in  the  Cloud  365 

There  was  a  long  silence,  which  neither  man  tried 
to  break.  It  seemed  to  Jock  as  though  his  spirit 
had  been  brought  down  to  the  deepest  depth  of  self- 
abasement.  His  soul  was  steeped  in  the  waters  of 
humiliation.  He  could  not  put  into  words  his  grati- 
tude for  the  mercy  which  had  been  extended  to  him. 
He  groped  bHndly  for  light  to  imderstand. 

"I  am  not  worthy — I  am  not  worthy,"  he 
murmured. 

He  had  been  sitting  with  his  face  hidden.  He 
raised  it.  The  boyishness  seemed  to  have  been  washed 
out  of  it.  The  struggle  through  which  he  had  passed 
had  marked  it  with  lines  which  no  years  could  give, 
nor  time  take  away.  The  great  Teacher  of  life  had 
written  on  it  a  new  lesion. 

"I  am  brought  down  to  the  dust,"  he  said  slowly. 
"I  am  humbled  to  the  dust  by  the  mercy  which  I 
have  not  deserved." 

He  pointed  to  the  hills. 

"Last  night  I  fled  from  what  I  thought  was  God's 
injustice,  with  a  curse  on  my  lips.  I  went  from  the 
room  where  I  thought  I  had  seen  her  IsHuig  dead,  and 
I  heard  the  child  cry,  and  I  cursed  it.  My  dog  came 
up  to  me,  and  I  spumed  him.  I  went  out  into  the 
night,  with  hatred  and  rebellion  raging  in  my  heart. 
I  had  always  felt  so  sure  of  myself;  that  my  faith 
was  strong  enough  to  stand:  but  I  had  never  been 
tried  before.  When  I  was  struck  at  through  her — I 
fell.  She  was  made  to  suffer  through  me.  She  was 
given  to  me.  God  gave  her  to  me  to  protect  and 
cherish  and  love;  and  the  power  to  do  it  was  taken 
from  me.  I  had  to  stand  helpless  and  know  that  my 
pride  in  my  strength,  and  the  boast  that  I  could  keep 


366  Bawbee  Jock 

her  dear  feet  from  even  a  thorn-prick,  was  naught.  I 
could  see  no  justice  in  anything.  God  and  Nature 
had  lied  to  me." 

His  head  drooped  again;  his  voice  hardly  rose  to  a 
whisper. 

"My  soul  has  been  in  hell!  How  can  I  work  out 
my  repentance?  I  am  not  worthy  that  she  should  be 
given  back  to  me." 

Flossie  was  looking  straight  in  front  of  him,  but  the 
view  was  blurred  although  the  sun  shone.  His  voice 
was  as  husky  as  Jock's  when  he  answered. 

"The  best  of  us  are  riding  for  a  fall  when  we  back 
our  souls  against — a  woman.  And — ^well,  thank  God, 
there  are  women  worth  it." 

He  said  nothing  more  for  a  long  time;  and  then, 
quite  unconsciously,  for  he  was  still  gazing  into  space, 
he  took  his  cigarette-case  out  of  his  pocket  and 
abstractedly  snapped  the  catch. 

The  trivial  sound  made  Jock  look  up.  He  moved 
uneasily,  and  his  glance  wavered  from  Flossie's  face 
to  where  the  chimneys  of  the  house  showed  through  a 
gap  in  the  trees  below. 

"  Don't  you  think  I  might  go  down  now?"  he  asked. 
"If  it  was  only  to  see  Christina.  I  won't  make  a 
noise.  I  'm  so  accustomed  to  being  qmet.  I  won't 
let  her  hear  me." 

Flossie  snapped  the  clasp  of  his  cigarette-case,  this 
time  with  intention,  and  offered  Jock  a  cigarette,  but 
Jock  shook  his  head. 

Flossie  felt  for  his  match-box. 

"Christina,  did  you  say?  Is  that  her  name?  Well, 
yes,  I  think  you  might  see  Christina.  She  won't  let 
you  do  anything  rash." 


The  Rift  in  the  Cloud  367 

He  paused  in  the  act  of  striking  a  match  and  looked 
Jock  up  and  down. 

"Take  my  advice,  and  go  and  have  a  tub  and 
change,  and  get  a  good  square  meal  inside  you  before 
you  do  anything  else.  When  she  wakes,  she  's  bound 
to  ask  for  you,  and — she  'd  jolly  soon  spot  the  fact 
that  you  'd  been  out  all  night,  and  wonder  what  the 
dickens  you  'd  been  up  to." 

Jock  looked  down  at  the  stains  of  peat-bog  on 
his  kilt,  and  passed  his  hand  over  his  roughened 
hair. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  '11  go  and  change."  He  took  a 
step  away,  and  then  halted. 

"  I  have  n't  even  thanked  you  for  coming  out  to  look 
for  me,"  he  said.  "Where  are  you  stopping?  Can't  I 
do  anything  for  you?" 

Flossie  laughed. 

"Never  mind  me,"  he  answered.  "I  *m  all  right. 
I  'm  provided  for.  I  fell  in  with  your  minister.  A 
godly,  excellent  man,  and  he  's  given  me  an  invitation 
to  hang  up  my  hat  in  his — what  do  you  call  it? — 
manse." 

Jock's  brow  cleared. 

"I  'm  afraid  ever3rthing  *s  rather  upset,"  he  said 
apologetically. 

"  Little  strangers  generally  do  upset  the  apple-cart," 
said  Flossie  blandly.  "But — don't  you  bother  about 
me.  I  'm  going  to  stop  here  for  a  bit  and  smoke  a 
cigarette.  I  '11  look  you  up  when  I  want  anything. 
But  remember !  Angela  does  n't  know  I  *m  here. 
Mum  's  the  word.     She  must  n't  be  fussed." 

He  watched  the  tall,  broad-shouldered  figure  go 
swinging  down  the  narrow  track.     Jock's  buoyancy 


368  Bawbee  Jock 

of  step  had  returned,  and  the  blood  was  sending  hope 
and  courage  pulsing  through  his  veins. 

"He  's  a  good  'un.  The  child  was  right;  she  knew 
her  man,"  mused  Flossie,  as  he  smoked  meditatively, 
and  his  glance  wandered  over  the  scene  before  him. 

"A  fine  inheritance,"  he  murmured.  "And  it 's  all 
right  between  them — that  's  clear." 

He  finished  his  cigarette,  and  taking  a  letter  out  of 
his  pocket,  read  it  slowly.  He  looked  at  the  signature 
absently  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  then  laid  the  letter 
open  on  the  grass  in  front  of  him,  and  lit  a  fresh 
cigarette. 

"Beauty!  you're   a  fool,"    he   remarked 

aloud.  "You  don't  care  a  brass  farthing  for  the 
woman.  The  god  Mammon!  Thank  the  Lx)rd,  my 
little  girl 's  safe." 

He  blew  out  a  cloud  of  smoke,  and  watched  it  drift 
into  thin  vapour.  Stooping,  he  turned  over  another 
sheet  of  the  paper  and  read : 

"Monty  Potter  won't  defend  his  case — ^he  can't. 
So  Dolly  will  get  her  release  without  inconvenient 
publicity." 

Flossie  put  his  foot  on  the  open  page,  and  went  on 
smoking. 

The  shades  of  evening  were  falling.  It  was  again 
that  gathering  time  of  dusk  "  'twixt  the  gloamin'  and 
the  murk";  and  Jock  stood  at  the  open  window  and 
watched  the  slowly  darkening  sky.  It  was  only  the 
night  before  that  he  had  stood  there  and  watched 
the  day  die.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  lived  a 
life-time  between  then  and  now. 

Angela  had  awakened,  and  had  asked  for  him,  and 
he  was  waiting  for  Christina  to  take  him  to  her.     Then 


The  Rift  in  the  Cloud  369 

he  would  mount  the  steep  stairs ;  not  to  find  a  menacing 
figure  barring  his  way,  but  to  find  his  love  watching 
for  him.  He  would  not  be  met  by  terror-haimted  eyes 
and  piteous  pleadings  which  would  cut  him  to  the 
heart;  the  fever  had  left  her,  and,  with  her  wonderful 
vitality,  life  was  bounding  back  to  her  with  every 
throb  of  quickening  pulse. 

Jock  had  just  parted  from  Doctor  Angus,  and  his 
fingers  still  tingled  from  the  grasp  of  his  handshake. 
The ,  grim-faced  man,  with  heart  as  tender  as  a 
child's  had  tiimed  aside  all  expressions  of  gratitude 
with  a  hasty:  "It  was  Christina.  I  couldn't  have 
won  through  without  Christina."  And  he  had  wrung 
Jock's  hand,  and  clambered  into  his  high  dog-cart,  and 
driven  out  into  the  darkness  on  some  fresh  mission  of 
healing. 

Christina  entered  the  room  so  quietly  that  he  did 
not  hear  her,  for  he  was  talking  softly  to  Dileas,  who 
was  resting  his  head,  with  dog-like  forgiveness,  on  the 
hand  that  had  spumed  him.  A  quick  pang  of  fear 
caught  him,  for  he  saw  that  there  were  tears  in 
Christina's  eyes. 

But  Christina  smiled  reassuringly. 

"  It  *s  only  thankfulness,  dearie,"  she  said.  "  Sheila's 
giving  the  dear  lamb  her  supper.  And  when  I  told 
her  she  must  finish  it  all  up  so  as  to  be  strong  to  see 
you,  she  looked  at  me  that  sweet-like  that  I  could  n't 
help  the  tears  coming."  Christina  wiped  her  eyes. 
"To  think  that  this  time  last  night  my  heart  was 
failing  me  for  fear.     And  now " 

"  This  time  last  night,"  repeated  Jock  in  a  low  voice. 

Christina  looked  at  him  gravely  for  a  moment. 

"I  'm  going  to  tell  you  something  very  strange," 

«4 


370  Bawbee  Jock 

she  said,  and  her  fiill,  deep  voice  trembled  a  little.  "It 
was  just  at  the  gloamin'  last  night.  I  had  been  watch- 
ing her  in  fear,  for  I  saw  that  she  was  sore  distressed. 
She  was  plucking  at  the  sheet,  and  her  voice  was  so 
low  that  I  could  n't  hear  right,  but  it  was  your  name 
that  she  was  calling  on.  She  was  too  weak  to  raise 
herself  on  her  pillow,  and  her  arms  were  weak  too; 
but  suddenly,  and  it  made  my  heart  stand  still  with 
fear,  I  saw  her  stretch  them  out  quite  strong-like,  and 
she  tried  to  speak.  Her  eyes  were  wide  open,  and  you 
could  see  that  she  was  looking — listening,  as  if  she 
was  waiting  for  an  answer  to  something.  And  then 
I  that  was  watching  saw  a  great  change  come  over  her 
dear  face.  The  strained,  frightened  look  faded  away, 
and  a  kind  of  radiance  spread  over  it.  Oh,  it  was 
beautiful,  dearie!  Just  as  if  an  angel  had  kissed  her, 
and  given  her  peace." 

Christina  paused  to  wipe  the  tears  from  her  cheeks 
again. 

"I  feared — I  feared  sore  to  think  what  it  meant; 
and  yet  I  hoped.  And  then,  as  I  watched,  I  saw  her 
eyes  gradually  close,  and  she  kind  of  settled  down  as 
if  sleep  had  fallen  on  her.  When  I  listened,  her  breath- 
ing was  quiet  and  natural,  and  my  heart  nearly  burst 
out  of  my  bosom  with  thankfulness,  for  I  knew  that 
sleep  would  save  her.  It  was  strange,  dearie,  was  n't 
it?  It  gave  me  the  thought  that  something  must  have 
uplifted  her  spirit,  and  swept  the  fever  from  her 
brain;  for  when  she  woke  up  she  was  her  dear  sweet 
self  again." 

Jock  drew  in  a  deep  breath.  He  did  not  question 
Christina;  he  did  not  tell  her  of  what  had  happened 
in  that  room  the  night  before.     The  great  mercy  which 


The  Rift  in  the  Cloud  371 

had  been  shown  to  him  seemed  a  thing  too  sacred  for 
speech.     He  had  been  allowed  to  help  his  darling. 

Standing  almost  on  the  spot  where  he  now  was,  he 
had  lifted  up  his  arms  and  prayed  that  he  might  be 
allowed  to  send  her  his  message  of  love  and  forgive- 
ness; and  his  spirit  had  reached  her  spirit. 

He  bowed  his  head.  He  had  distrusted — he  had 
scorned  his  faith ;  and  yet  he  was  to  be  allowed  to  take 
up  his  life  anew;  and  the  sacred  charge  of  another  life 
was  to  be  given  into  his  hands. 

"That  was  the  turning-point,"  continued  Christina. 
"Do  you  mind  how  I  sent  you  away  yon  time  you 
came  up?  I  must  have  looked  fierce;  but  it  was  to 
save  her.  If  she  had  been  wakened  then  it  might 
have  been  her  death.  It  was  the  sleep  that  saved 
her." 

"I  came  up  again,"  said  Jock.  "You  did  not  see 
me.  You  had  your  head  down — lying  on  your  folded 
arms;  and  then  I  saw  her,  and — I  thought " 

Christina  smiled  rather  wanly.  Her  tired  face  was 
lined  by  anxious  hours  of  nursing. 

"She  was  asleep  then,  and  I  must  have  dropped 
off  myself  just  for  a  few  minutes.  I  was  wearied,  and 
I  remember  lajdng  my  head  down  to  say  a  bit  prayer 
of  thankfulness,  and  I  must  have  dropped  off.  It  was 
only  a  few  minutes.  But  you  've  such  a  light  foot, 
dearie;  I  never  heard  you  come  in.  You  must  forgive 
me.     It  was  only  a  few  minutes." 

"Oh,  Christina!  Did  you  think  I  was  reproaching 
you?"  cried  Jock;  and  he  threw  his  arms  round  her 
neck  and  kissed  her  with  the  impetuosity  which  had 
characterised  his  rare  outbursts  of  boyish  affection. 

"You've    nearly    killed    yourself,"    he    declared. 


t 


^iT^  Bawbee  Jock 

"But  you  Ve  saved  her.  No  one  could  have  done  it 
but  you." 

A  gentle  voice  was  heard  calling  from  the  top  of  the 
stairs. 

"That 's  Sheila,"  said  Christina.  "She  was  to  cry 
on  me  when  the  dear  pet  had  finished  her  supper. 
I  '11  take  you  up  now." 

Her  foot  was  on  the  step  of  the  stair,  when  she 
hesitated,  and  looking  at  Jock  said,  with  a  note  of 
warning  in  her  voice: 

"  Sick  folk  get  queer  notions  into  their  heads.  Take 
all  that  she  says  without  any  questioning.  Just  pre- 
tend you  know.  Say  'yes'  whenever  you  think  she 
wants  you  to  say  *  yes,'  and  never  mind  whether  you 
know  a  thing  's  real  or  not  if  she  thinks  it 's  real." 

"I  know!  I  imderstand!"  said  Jock.  "How  long 
may  I  stay?" 

Christina  smiled. 

"  I  think  you  '11  know  that  for  yourself." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE  UNION  OF  THREE 

SHE  lay  like  a  little  winter  snowdrop  which  had 
struggled  through  the  dark  and  cold,  and  come 
out  into  the  sunshine,  and  was  resting  its  drooping 
head  upon  a  soft  bed  of  snow.  Everything  about  her 
was  snow-white,  except  the  dark  halo  of  her  hair 
against  the  pillow.  Her  eyes  looked  wofully  big; 
but  they  shone  like  stars,  and  they  clung  to  his  face 
and  followed  him  as,  obeying  Christina's  sign,  he 
passed  round  at  the  foot  of  the  great  carved  bed  to  the 
side  where  she  lay.  A  chair  was  drawn  close,  and  he 
was  grateful ;  for  at  the  sight  of  her  dear  face,  and  the 
eager,  anxious  love  in  her  eyes,  a  sudden  weakness 
made  his  limbs  tremble,  and  something  seemed  to 
catch  at  his  heart  and  drain  the  blood  from  it. 

He  bent  his  head  down  to  the  pillow  and  his  lips 
touched  her  hair.  The  faint  scent  of  violets  clung  to 
it,  and  breathed  soft  fragrance  from  all  about  her. 
With  a  stifled  sob  he  tried  to  hide  his  face  against  the 
little  curls  which  clustered  about  her  ears. 

She  murmured  his  name,  but  he  could  not  speak, 
and  she  lay  still  for  a  few  moments  and  then  whispered ; 

"Put  your  arm  under  me  and  lift  me  up.  I  want  to 
feel  my  head  in  the  old  place." 

373 


374  Bawbee  Jock 

He  raised  her  until  she  lay  with  her  head  pillowed  in 
the  hollow  of  his  shoulder. 

"Kiss  me,"  she  said.  And  he  kissed  her  on  the 
brow  and  lips.  She  looked  so  fragile  that  he  feared 
lest  his  softest  touch  might  be  too  rough.  The  weight 
of  her  body  against  his  breast  seemed  no  heavier  than 
a  snowflake.  But  he  held  her;  he  could  feel  her. 
She  had  been  given  back  to  him. 

She  drew  a  long,  sighing  breath,  and  closed  her  eyes. 
The  dark  lashes  fluttered,  and  she  looked  up  again. 

"You  did  not  kiss  me  when  you  came  to  me  before." 
Her  voice  was  weak  and  low,  but  the  old  sweet  thrill 
vibrated  through  it.  Her  eyes  went  to  the  empty 
space  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  between  the  carved  pillars. 
"You  stood  there,  and  you  spoke  to  me,  but  you  did 
not  come  and  kiss  me." 

"I — I — "  Jock  checked  himself.  He  remembered 
Christina's  warning.  "I  was  afraid  to  kiss  you,**, he 
said,  and  he  touched  her  hair  again  with  his  lips. 
"You  were  asleep — I  was  afraid  to  awaken  you." 

She  smiled. 

"It  would  not  have  hurt  me.  But  I  imderstood." 
Her  eyes  searched  his  face,  eagerly,  pleadingly.  "  You 
have  quite  forgiven  me,  have  n't  you?" 

"My  darling,  there  was  nothing  to  forgive." 

She  sighed,  another  long  sigh  of  content. 

"That  was  what  you  said.  I  had  been  so  unhappy 
because  I  had  not  been  able  to  tell  you  my  secret.  I 
was  always  struggling  and  struggling  to  tell  you.  It 
was  like  a  dreadful  nightmare.  I  was  so  frightened 
that  I  would  never  be  able  to  tell  you ;  my  head  was  al- 
ways burning,  and  I  could  not  find  the  proper  words. 
And — once  you  came — and  I  was  not  ready,  and — I 


The  Union  of  Three  375 

was  afraid  of  you."  Her  brow  puckered  in  a  line  of 
pain.  "  My  head  is  still  so  stupid  that  I  cannot  re- 
member how  I  told  you.  But — I  explained,  did  n't 
I?  You  know  why  I  did  it?  It  was  because  I  loved 
you  so;  and  because —  You  do  know  everjrthing, 
don't  you?" 

"Everything,"  he  answered. 
•     "And  you  forgive  me?" 

"There  was  nothing  to  forgive,  my  darling." 

"Ah!  Now  I  remember.  You  said  that.  I  had 
been  trying  so  hard  to  tell  you.  And  then —  suddenly 
I  seemed  to  waken  out  of  that  dreadful  nightmare,  and 
•I  saw  you  standing  there  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  be- 
tween the  pillars — those  dreadful  pillars  that  had 
always  mocked  at  me,  and  told  me  you  were  angry  and 
would  not  forgive  me.  And  you  held  out  your  arms, 
and  you  said —  What  was  it?  Oh,  my  head  is  so  stu- 
pid! Yes,  I  know.  You  said:  'My  darling,  I  forgive 
you.  There  is  nothing  I  would  not  forgive  you.'  I 
can  hear  you  saying  it.  Your  voice  was  very  low  and 
clear,  and  there  was  that  intent  look  in  your  eyes  that 
I  love  so." 

She  paused  to  take  breath.  And  he  told  her  that 
she  was  not  to  tire  her  dear  head  with  trying  to 
remember. 

"But  I  love  to  remember.  It  comforted  me  so,  to 
see  you  standing  there — even  although  you  did  not 
kiss  me.  I  stretched  out  my  arms  to  you,  and  you 
said  it  all  over  again.  It  was  like  a  kind  of  blessing, 
and  then  I  seemed  to  drift  away  into  a  beautiful 
dream.  I  think  that  I  have  been  dreaming  ever  since, 
but  I  am  awake  now."  She  pressed  her  cheek  against 
the  breast  of  his  coat.     "This — makes  me  feel  that  it 


37^  Bawbee  Jock 

is  real.  If  you  only  knew  what  a  relief  it  is  to  be 
quite  sure  that  you  know.  And  you  have  forgiven 
me — everything?  " 

"Quite  sure,"  he  answered.  "How  could  you  ever 
think  that  I  would  not  forgive  you  for  loving  me — so 
much  better  than  I  deserve?" 

"You  deserve  everything."  She  raised  her  head, 
her  weak  voice  gained  a  little  of  its  pretty,  quick 
vehemence.  "  You  deserve  everything,"  she  repeated. 
"You  would  never  have  behaved  in  the  selfish,  deceit- 
ful way  that  I  did.  You  are  so  good  and  strong. 
Dearest,  do  you  remember  when  we  sat  together  on 
the  knoll  that  Sunday  afternoon,  and  you  told  me 
about  the  sermon?  '  He  set  his  face  stedfastly.' 
That  was  the  text.  That  is  what  you  would  always 
do.  You  would  set  your  face  stedfastly  to  do  what 
was  right.  However  much  you  loved  me,  you  would 
never  have  made  an  idol  of  your  love.  You  would 
never  have  put  me  before  what  was  right." 

She  felt  the  muscles  of  the  strong  arms  which  held 
her  tremble. 

"But  I  did.  I  put  you  before — God  and  my  soul. 
Nothing  else  mattered.  I  put  you  before  everything," 
he  said  brokenly. 

Something  wet  fell  on  her  cheek.  She  moved  her 
head  and  looked  up  at  him,  and  raising  her  arms,  she 
clasped  them  round  his  neck. 

"My  poor  dear,"  she  whispered,  "I  know — I  know 
just  how  you  feel.  It  is  so  dreadfully  difficult  not  to 
love  too  much.     Is  n't  it?" 

She  laid  her  cheek  against  his,  breathing  sweet 
comfort  into  his  ear. 

"  It  is  not  that  we  have  loved  each  other  too  much. 


The  Union  of  Three  377 

It  is  that  we  have  not  given  our  love  room  to  grow 
big  enough.  That  is  it.  Don't  you  think  so?  We 
will  begin  all  over  again.  It  is  comforting  to  know 
that  we  are  both  the  same.  It  will  make  us  humble. 
And  now  that  there  is  no  secret — that  you  know 
everything — we  wiU  try  to  do  some  good  with  our 
love — if  we  are  allowed,"  she  added. 

She  lay  still:  the  long  lashes  drooped  low,  and, 
watching  her,  he  wondered  if  she  had  fallen  asleep. 
He  bent  to  listen  to  her  breathing,  and  she  opened  her 
eyes  wide  and  bright. 

"  You — you  have  not  said  a  word — not  a  word  about 
your  son." 

J     She  spoke  very  quickly,  and  a  faint  tinge  of  colour 
stained  the  whiteness  of  her  cheeks. 

"I — haven't — "  Jock  halted  and  stammered. 
She  saved  him  unwittingly  by  her  eagerness. 

"Were  you  dreadfully  disappointed  when  you  saw 
how  small  he  was?" 

"No!  Oh  no!  I  was  so  glad  that —  He's  all 
right,  dear." 

"He  is  very  tiny,  of  course,"  she  said  anxiously. 
"But  that  was  not  his  fault,  and  Christina  says  she 
has  seen  far  tinier  babies  grow  into  great  strong  men. 
I  do  so  want  him  to  be  like  you.  I  was  allowed  to 
hold  him  to-day.  Perhaps  my  arms  are  not  very 
strong,  but  he  felt  qmte  heavy — ^and  he  cried,  oh,  ever 
so  loud." 

"He  's  got  a  wonderfully  strong  voice,"  said  Jock, 
catching  at  the  straw  held  out  to  him. 

"Yes,  has  n't  he?  I  'm  so  glad.  That  shows  that 
he  's  strong,  does  n't  it?" 

She  smiled  radiantly,  and  then  her  mouth  drooped. 


378  Bawbee  Jock 

"  He  *s  got  a  foster-mother.  I  'm  so  jealous  of  her. 
Is  n't  it  dreadful  that  I  am  such  a  useless  little  thing 
that  I  can't  even  mother  my  own  child." 

She  moved  restlessly,  her  fingers  playing  with  the 
lace  of  her  sleeve. 

"Jock,"  she  said  beseechingly,  "don't  you  think 
you  could  steal  him  from  that  woman?  I  want  him  so 
dreadfully  badly." 

"  My — my  dear!"  said  Jock. 

Her  weak  fingers  closed  over  his  hand. 

"I  'm  his  mother,"  she  said,  and  her  hold  tightened. 
"His  real  mother!  And,  Jock,  I  do  so  want  to  see 
him  in  your  arms." 

Jock  hesitated. 
■    "Ought  I  to  leave  you?    Shall  I  call  Christina?" 

"No,  no,"  she  implored.  "We  don't  want  any  one 
— ^just  our  two  selves,  and  our  little  baby.  Do  go  and 
bring  him  to  me?  I  will  be  so  good.  Look!  I  will 
shut  my  eyes  and  lie  quite  still  and  not  move  a  finger 
until  you  come  back." 

He  still  doubted,  and  she  flashed  up  at  him  one  of 
her  mocking  smiles  of  sweet  raillery. 

"You  for  a  Highlander!  Not  to  know  how  to  steal 
your  own  son." 

He  laid  her  down  gently  and  left  the  room,  outwardly 
calm,  but  inwardly  filled  with  trepidation.  Christina 
was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  but  Sheila  proved  a  willing 
accomplice  to  the  theft.  She  placed  the  small  white 
bundle  in  his  arms,  and  came  with  him  to  the  foot  of 
the  stairs  to  make  sure  that  he  did  not  want  any  help, 
and  watched  him  out  of  sight  with  a  glad  light  in  her 
soft  dark  eyes. 

In  spite  of  her  promise  to  lie  quite  still,  Angela  was 


The  Union  of  Three  379 

alert  and  watching.  And  when  she  saw  Jock  and 
what  he  carried,  her  lips  parted  in  a  tremulous  Uttle 
gasp. 

Very  cautiously,  in  fear  lest  the  precious  bundle 
should  slip  through  his  fingers,  he  laid  the  child  in  her 
arms.  She  drew  back  the  shawl  in  which  it  was 
wrapped,  and  bent  over  her  treasure,  crooning  soft, 
wordless  little  noises,  of  which  Jock  could  only  dimly 
understand  the  meaning. 

The  baby  was  asleep,  and  looked  placidly  peaceful. 
It  had  lost  something  of  the  pathos  of  immatmity;  the 
microscopic  nose  and  mouth  and  little  pink  face  were 
suggestive  of  crumpled  rose  leaves  and  a  newly 
fledged  bird. 

Angela  gazed  at  the  small  atom  of  humanity  in  a 
rapture  of  adoration.  She  Ufted  her  face,  all  flushed 
and  quivering,  to  Jock's.  The  love-light  in  her  eyes 
was  for  him,  and  of  the  mother-love  he  was  not 
jealous. 

"Lift  us  both  up  higher,"  she  said,  and  he  raised  her 
in  his  arms. 

"  Now  you  must  kiss  him,"  she  said.  "Just  there — 
on  his  cheek.  You  must  be  very  careful,  because  there 
is  n't  much  room." 

And  Jock  kissed  his  son. 

"You  really  are  proud  of  him,  although  he  is  so 
small?"  she  asked  anxiously.  "You  will  love  him, 
won't  you?     You  are  not  jealous  of  him?  " 

"No,  I  *m  not  jealous  of  him.  I  'm  proud  of  him, 
dear.    I  love  to  see  him  like  that  in  your  arms." 

"We  can  never  grow  hard  and  make  our  love  a 
selfish  thing  when  we  have  this.  Can  we?"  she 
said. 


380  Bawbee  Jock 

For  answer  he  drew  her  very  close,  and^  kissed  the 
sleeping  child  again  of  his  own  accord. 

She  looked  up  at  him,  smiling  tenderly,  and  then 
touched  with  her  lips  the  downy  head  lying  cradled 
on  her  bosom. 

"My  little  Bawbee,"  she  murmured  softly. 

THE  END 


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